Too Good To Be True
by coffeecupcakegirl
Summary: Elizabeth Swann is engaged to Will Turner and everything could be wonderful. *Could* be, but she's missing her new friends, and the old ones even more. Norribeth, written before DMC and AWE.
1. The Departure of the Dauntless

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**The Departure**** of the Dauntless**

* * *

"So this is where your heart truly lies, then?"

He could hardly speak these words, simple as they were. His heart felt like surely breaking, his bow-tie seemed to cut his breathing, but surrounded by dozens of officers, the Governor, Elizabeth and – that _boy_, he had no chance but to appear as composed and orderly as he could ever be. The Head of a Royal Navy Corps couldn't just lose control like another man might perhaps have done in the same situation, regardless of the fact that he felt too petrified to move anyway.

Elizabeth bit her lip and replied slowly, "It is."

He knew this movement so well; she always bit her lip when she was embarrassed, and all he could do was slightly beckoning at her. Her cheeks had coloured delicately, her eyes were wide and she wore an expression of genuine concern and he couldn't help it but stare at her. Elizabeth –

In this moment, that would certainly make the records as the worst of his whole life, he was, ironically, enough saved by Jack Sparrow. That man's clowning about spared him the sight of Elizabeth's enraptured gaze at the Turner boy, as Sparrow approached and told him that he had always meant to be 'rooting' for him, the Commodore – whatever this was supposed to mean. Hardly five seconds later, Sparrow had fallen down the cliff and James Norrington was staring after him, still fully incapable to bring his mind in order. He could only look at Sparrow, down in the bay, at the ship that had appeared out of nowhere to save him, and though James tried his best to pull himself together, he simply couldn't do much more than compose his features to appear calm, speak one or two words to Turner and set off as quickly as possible. He heard Gillette's voice behind him, imploring his Commander what was to be done about Sparrow, and pulled himself together to give his officer a faint smile and say, "Well, I think we can afford to give him _one _day's head start."

He had to get away from this place, he had to reach his quarters and bar the door before grasping another rational thought. Elizabeth…

Commodore James Norrington was no man to easily lose his composure, and most certainly, he would never do so in front of anybody's eyes to witness such a meltdown. He also had a justified reputation to be neither a drunkard nor a whiner, but who could have blamed him on this day? He marched to his rooms with all due dignity, shut the door in Gillette's face, locked it up and headed right for the bottle of Rum in the cabinet. One glass of Rum might clarify his view, the second stop his heart from hammering like a drum, and half a bottle must safely have _some_ soothing effects about everything else, right?

He hated the taste of it, the burning in his throat was nothing compared to the burning in his eyes, but without hesitation, he swallowed three glasses in quick succession before sitting down. Elizabeth – his _fiancée_ – had just declared her love for the Turner boy, had she? Yes, without a doubt, she had. And he, James Norrington had given her free, had he? It would appear so, despite the daze that was enclosing him. He had a brief notion of pride; if there was one thing he could be content with, it had to be his reaction to _this_ part. He checked himself – no, there was nothing to be ashamed of in _there_. The love of his life might have agonised and deserted him, but not his self-control. Well, this was obviously the only gratifying aspect in a sea of bitter sadness about everything else.

He truly _loved_ Elizabeth, he had loved her for so many years, she was more to him than any other person or thing in the world. He would have done literally _everything_ for her. They had been engaged for roughly three weeks, although he had proposed to her some time ago, and in two weeks, they should have been going to actually marry at last. _Two weeks!_ He couldn't say whether he should be pleased or desperate about it. In two weeks, she would have been his wife forever; he would have possessed her hand, but not her heart. He sneered to himself and found that it would take him some more Rum and time to think it a lucky circumstance that their ways had parted before their hands were joined at last.

He was a sensible man of thirty-one years, and he knew that a heart could never be taken, only given voluntarily. If Elizabeth had chosen to give hers to somebody else, there was nothing he could do about it, and he firmly scolded himself not to lament, for her sake as much as his own. He had wanted not much more than being allowed to make her happy. Well, clearly, she was happy _now_.

The Rum wasn't able to dim his perception in this case. He had _known_ that she hadn't been in love with him; he had asked her to be his wife nevertheless. Somehow, he had clung to the hope that she would accustom to him, that she could _learn_ to love him. Obviously never as much as he loved her, but he hadn't minded. In fact, it would have stricken him as rather odd to think that – because his own feelings for the young lady were so strong that they could impossibly be matched.

What he had utterly failed to realise was that she could have given her love to someone else. The Turner boy – no, it had never occurred to him that she could be serious about him. A boy of nineteen years, her mate from childhood days; that _he_ had fancied her had been evident to anyone with eyes to see, but vice versa? How could he have been so incredibly foolish not to notice? She had agreed to marry him for the _purpose_ of saving the Turner boy, but still, this hadn't rung a bell with the Commodore. He had owned it to her sense of justice, to her fondness for an old friend, and the _small_ doubt he had had on that occasion, she had dispersed by stating what a 'fine man' he, James Norrington, was. He had been satisfied with this remark; actually, he had been so thoroughly happy with it that he would instantly have rowed to the end of the world just to prove her his worthiness of such praise.

But in the end, Elizabeth hadn't wanted a 'fine man' but a 'pirate', she hadn't wanted to be a 'fine woman' herself, but a romantic pirate's bride. He smirked with that notion, really. Elizabeth was only eighteen, and he had been aware of her great romantic inclination, all the embarrassing novels she would secretly read. He should have known that she simply wasn't the type to content herself with a marriage based on prudence. That she couldn't be truly happy with a man that did not set her heart on fire. He had known that he never had.

Why – _how_ – could he have been this blind? As rational as he had ever been in every other respect, why had he been so grossly mistaken in assuming that a girl like her could accept a man like him? They weren't meant for each other, no matter what it looked like on first sight. Because on first sight, they had been _designed_ for each other. He was the most powerful man in Port Royal, even more powerful than her own father, he had achieved rank and fame early in life, could command a handsome fortune to call his own, and was the second son of a family of nobility. She was the Governor's daughter, of equal birth and similar fortune, unspeakably beautiful and the loveliest creature in the whole Caribbean. Her father had spotted those parallels instantly and had always promoted a possible engagement. But similarities of position or money were of little importance when matters of the heart were concerned, weren't they? She had proven that she gave nothing for consequence when choosing a simple blacksmith; she didn't care that he hardly owned a purse to put in the money that he hadn't got. It was of no importance.

The Turner boy… For some minutes, James Norrington cursed to have ever fished the boy out of the Ocean eight years ago, but that was nonsense. For a start – hadn't it been this boy, it would have been somebody else, the handsome apprentice of Mr. Coyle, the cobbler, maybe. But never him, the mighty Commodore. What was more – such an act, nay, the sheer idea in itself, simply wasn't like him – he would never have left a little boy to his fate, only to secure his own personal felicity, even _if_ he had known back then how things would turn out eventually. No, this wasn't Will Turner's fault, or Elizabeth's, and even he himself wasn't too much to blame. It was no one's fault; he loved a woman who did not love him back. The oldest story in the book, and no living being to be reproached for it.

He tried to get his head clear, to understand everything that had just happened before his eyes. Sparrow had escaped – not to worry, they would catch him again. They always had. He had escaped because that Turner boy had saved him from the gallows. Admirable technique, incidentally – that throw had been incredible, not even James Norrington, in this of all nights, could deny it. They had caught the both of them, due to the Commodore's own wise planning, yes. And _then_…? Elizabeth had suddenly appeared, had placed herself at the side of Turner and Sparrow – in a way, that was only natural, she was young and idealistic, and she had strongly opposed Sparrow's execution in the first place. But James couldn't fool himself there. It hadn't simply been her sense of justice that had made her go.

He drained another glass of Rum. Oh boy. He wasn't used to drinking, so he ought to be soundly drunk after half a bottle, but the only thing happening was that he was even more sick than before. He had lost Elizabeth for good, no Rum could change that, nothing and no one could do anything about it. At least, he tried to console himself, at least he wouldn't have to watch the happy couple. He'd be on sea, aboard the Dauntless that had never let him down. He would do what he was best at. Pursuing and capturing dangerous fugitives. Yes. Maybe that was just his lot in life. Maybe he simply ought to stick to his job. He hadn't been promoted to impress young ladies, but to serve the King and do so fully, with all his heart, all the commitment he was capable of. Yes.

Another sip of Rum might just enforce that resolution, he thought, but instead, he simply passed out. Which was lucky, for the last thoughts of James Norrington before finally falling asleep weren't about his sure-coming headaches, but about lovely Elizabeth, the love of his life that he had lost, if one could lose somebody that one never had got to begin with. This comatose oblivion saved him from his heartache for some hours at least.

In the next morning, Gillette woke him up before dawn to get ready for their task at hand, and despite his awfully throbbing headaches, James had at least slept a couple of hours. Count your blessings, boy, he thought to himself and put on his uniform. It was going to be a long day, followed by countless other long and exhausting days until they'd have tracked down Sparrow. In his present state of mind, he was in no hurry to reach that goal; the longer he was away, the better.

Unlike the Commodore, Elizabeth Swann, the object of all his woes, hadn't managed to close her eyes all night. Too excited she had been, too thrilled by everything that had happened, happy beyond expression for having ascertained Will's regard for her after all, and feeling more than just slightly guilty for – well – because of that thing with James. She knew that he didn't deserve to be treated in such fashion, she knew that his attachment to her was real and heart-felt, and to top it all, he had even proven his superiority by giving her free without any further ado. There was no hypocrisy there; she truly wished she could have spared him the disappointment; she wished she hadn't done the things she had done, like becoming engaged to him even though her heart hadn't been in it.

All right, she had accepted his proposal in order to save Will and she did not regret _this_. But she knew James. She knew that she could have just asked him to do her this favour, he would have acquiesced out of pure regard and kindness if she had given him the chance. Instead, _she_ had brought on the subject of marriage, and when he had asked her if she was serious, she had _not_ recanted, but deceived him most despicably. All her felicity could not make her more lenient against herself on this head. She was to blame, she had acted very wrongly, very wrongly indeed, and not even her utter bliss could make her forget her shameful conduct.

To calm her poor father, she had agreed to have an early breakfast with him. Deadly tired as she was, she still got up and sat down at the breakfast table opposite of him, drinking too much coffee and unable to eat anything. Who could think of eating when there was so much to dwell upon? Right after breakfast, she'd go down to the town and see her lovely fiancé, to repeat all these vows of love of the previous day, to get lost in those beautiful brown eyes, to give in to all the gushing that she felt and had for so long kept only to herself.

It was a startling bright morning in Port Royal, the sun was blazing down with might, and as violently radiating as the sunbeams was Elisabeth Swann's mood. She shielded her eyes against the gloriously bright light, while dully beaming at her father, not grasping anything of what he was saying, because her thoughts were just too happily engaged elsewhere.

"Elizabeth, dear, are you even listening?"

"Hm? Forgive me, Father…?"

"Darling," the Governor began anew, "I had hoped you would rethink your decision. I can easily imagine that you got carried away by yesterday's events, but _seriously_ –"

"_Seriously_ I'm quite determined to rethink nothing at all, Father." She smiled sweetly. "And why should I?"

"My dear child, as you well know there's nothing more important to me than seeing you happy. If you hadn't fled from the Dauntless that night, you would have heard me advising you to undo your engagement to the Commodore if you had committed yourself for the wrong reasons. Which you obviously had. You see, I'm not unreasonable. But I beg you, _please_ consider your future! That boy that you intend to marry, he – I won't mention that he is a _blacksmith_ – he cannot _afford_ to marry you within the next five, perhaps eight years!"

Elisabeth scarcely listened to her father, her mind was set on far more pleasant things than that, but she had overheard his last words, and replied cheerfully, "Yes, I know that!"

"And yet you are willing to commit yourself to an engagement of such uncertainty? All I ask for is that you contemplate the extent of such a hardship –"

"I've waited for it eight years already, Father, I think I will be able to wait some more, now that I know that he is as attached to me as I have always been to him!"

"But Elizabeth, be sensible, please! It isn't too late yet, you know, and everything can be done without any inconveniences to yourself. _I_ could talk to the young man and tell him –"

"You'll do no such thing, Father! Honestly, what are you saying there! If _you_ were serious about your wish to see me happy, you wouldn't propose any such thing! I could never be happy without Will, he is my everything!"

Governor Swann took a deep breath but suppressed a sigh. "My dear, when you think of the life that the good Commodore could have offered you –"

"I thought you had said that I shouldn't have accepted James anyway, since my decision was made for the wrong reasons?"

"Obviously, my dear. But right now, I'm not talking about Commodore Norrington – please, try to address him by his proper title, will you? You're no longer his – anyway. What I _was_ talking about is the undeniable fact that young Mr Turner will _never_ be able to maintain the sort of living you deserve. I don't mean to talk you into marrying the Commodore, but you _should_ contemplate another man of his rank and situation in life. Look at it, Elizabeth, you haven't seen much of the world but Port Royal. I feel it would do you good to go to England for some time, or at least Nassau Port, you could see your Uncle Clarence –"

"You want to send me away?!"

"Not at all, my darling! All I'm saying is that you might benefit from a change of scenery," he said as harmlessly as he could. He loved his daughter more than anything in this world, he wanted to keep her from all harm. His worries concerning her plans of an unequal marriage resulted not so much from condescension, but genuine sympathy for both her and her new fiancé. Back in England, he knew a couple of people who had ventured to unequal marriages, and none, none of them had done well with their choices. It was always the same; the partner who lowered themselves got disappointed, while the other spouse became frustrated and depressed.

Elizabeth was mortified with the mere suggestion of removing her from Port Royal and Governor Swann made no further attempt for the time being. Thinking of his brother-in-law Clarence, who was a vicar in Nassau Port, an idea had suddenly darted through his usually lazy mind, an idea that seemed brilliant. If he could manage to usher Elizabeth out of Port Royal for a start…

The girl's mind had meanwhile returned to more pleasant thoughts, too. How wonderful was Will Turner? Could there be words to describe him? How brave he was! What a fabulous swordsman! And those beautiful, beautiful eyes! His sweet smile, those black curls, and so very handsome! She had fancied him for so long, and now he was finally her own Will. She had hoped for this since she was fifteen or so. Longer even, possibly.

She gave a start when seeing her father in full ornate, looking quizzical. Oh, the Dauntless was to sail away – she had almost forgotten! "Oh yes, yes, I'm ready!"

Her surprise had spared her the decision, for in fact, she didn't really want to go. She dreaded to meet the man with whom she had been engaged until yesterday, but she knew it was her duty to say goodbye to him still. Firstly: out of habit, she had accompanied her father on such occasions ever since she was twelve and it would look odd if she didn't go today of all days. Secondly, she was well aware that it was partly _her_ fault that Jack had managed to escape, which was the reason for the Dauntless to set after them. And thirdly, she wasn't entirely void of good breeding or gratefulness, rather the opposite. She knew that she owed all her present happiness to James Norrington's generosity, and strictly speaking, she owed him more than just courtesy.

They went down to the harbour by carriage, and Elisabeth felt increasingly nervous. What should she say? What could possibly reconcile the Commodore? Wasn't it far more likely that he should hate to see her, after being slighted in such fashion? But now it was too late, and clearly, her father thought it her duty, too, so all she could do was trying her best. It was already hot, though not nine o'clock yet, and both the heat and her tension made her use her fan. A fan was a marvellous invention, as it gave young ladies the possibility to hide their faces when there was nothing else to be done, and she set all her hopes in it now.

They got out of the carriage, and in the bare sunlight, Elisabeth was even more dizzy, faintly congratulating herself for not wearing a corset, but there he was, and more urgent necessities preoccupied her. He made a bow towards her father. "Good morning, Governor Swann –"

"Good morning, Commodore Norrington," he replied. The Commodore made another bow.

"Good morning, Miss Swann."

She curtseyed and averted her face. "Good morning, Commodore Norrington –"

Luckily her father, apparently perfectly unaware of his daughter's awkwardness, saved her for the moment by crying cheerfully, "I see you are ready to set sails, Commodore. I shall hope that you're not to stay away for too long?"

"Long enough, Sir," was the subdued reply, "We shall not return to Port Royal before achieving our aims, and as we've seen, Captain Sparrow is a shrewd man when it comes to escaping."

"Well, when you hang him, make sure to do it elsewhere – apparently he's too lucky in Port Royal!"

Elisabeth blushed fiercely with this remark, which hadn't been given in any sense of a guilty conscience. Her father obviously did not feel the least responsible for either Jack Sparrow's lucky escape, or rather his daughter's contribution in it. The Commodore smirked sourly. "No, he clearly has too many friends _here_, but I'm not afraid that he will get what he deserves in the end, Sir."

"Of course!" Governor Swann smiled complacently. "I have all faith in your capabilities!"

He asked the Commodore for a private word and they wandered away some steps, while Elizabeth sauntered along the pier and took a look at the Dauntless. The ship was rustling with sailors scurrying about, making some last preparations for their trip, but she hardly had eyes for all the commotion. Her mind was set on the conversation before her; she knew she had to make apologies to her former fiancé, it was only right and since she had come down to the harbour, there was no way around it without making it all worse.

The Dauntless was a majestic ship, fabricated for Commodore Norrington especially. He had partaken in designing it and it did him credit; Elizabeth knew her way with ships. Her old governess Miss Brody had often lamented her laziness in her studies, but she hadn't known how much her pupil had read after all. Miss Brody would have deemed those books a very unsuitable lecture for a young lady. There had been all those books about pirates, of course, then there were all these romance novels, and living in a Caribbean Navy hamlet, she had also informed herself about seafaring, partly because it went hand in hand with her interest in pirates, partly because the only library in Port Royal chiefly boasted naval books.

The Dauntless had no fancy trimmings like other flagships; it was quite casual, similar to the Interceptor, which had been James' design, too. The Interceptor… Well, she was irretrievably lost. And one _could_ say that this was Elizabeth's fault, too. Well, not _exclusively_ her fault. It hadn't been _her_ to commandeer it, but she had been the reason for the theft. And it had been her idea to try and engage the Black Pearl in combat, which had lead to the Interceptor's total destruction. James had taken the blow quite well – he had smirked wryly, swallowed and murmured that he'd prefer to rather think of his ship at the bottom of the ocean than in the hands of pirates.

With one ship sunk and the other at sea, Port Royal was in a very defensive position, so Elizabeth assumed that they'd get a replacement soon. Admiral Thompson in Nassau Port was pretty proud with his Eastern division, so he could hardly deny them anything. The king himself had sent a recommendation after James had captured some particularly dangerous looters who had preyed on a couple of islands nearby, but who had never dared to come to Port Royal because of the Commodore.

The two men returned and James Norrington said goodbye to Elizabeth, but she shook her head. "Please, Sir, do you have a moment?"

"Anytime," was his reply, but he didn't look at her, and her heart was sinking.

"Commodore Norrington," she began quietly, "I wish to explain to you – you must know why I… You see, I have the highest regard for you, I really have, and I want you to know that I received your – offers with all gratitude that could be felt by any woman –"

"Miss Swann," he interrupted her; she was still averting her face. "You need not explain yourself. I have understood, and I hope you know that you are free to do whatever you think right for yourself!"

"I cannot but thank you for that, Commodore. Please, you must know that I never meant to hurt you. I don't seem to deserve your affection but –"

"You deserve any man's affection, Miss Swann." He gave her a wry little smile and continued in a tone that he probably meant to sound nothing but friendly, but which hurt Elizabeth all the more. "What is left for me to hope is that you shall be thoroughly happy with your choice. Truly, I mean it – I wish you all the best."

She wasn't able to answer that, ready to sink from agitation – no corset was needed in this instance. Why couldn't he be mad with her? It would all be so much easier if he treated her less friendly!

"You are what any woman dreams about to marry, and I sincerely hope that you will find a woman matching you in worthiness, James… You've shown true greatness yesterday, I can't tell you how grateful I am! I want you to know, I didn't lie to you back then on the Dauntless, you _are_ a fine man and I _would_ have married you if you had wished that still. I want you to know that I didn't lie!"

She had meant no harm when assuring him this, but seeing his pained expression, she wanted to eat her own words. He closed his eyes for a second, inclined his head a little and replied very quietly, "Thank you very much, Miss Swann. If it is of any solace to you – I didn't think you were a liar. And you need not thank me for undoing the… for letting you free. You should marry the person you love and nobody else. And I should marry a lady who actually wants to be my wife with _all_ her heart."

"Oh James, you –"

"Forgive me, Miss Swann, but I really must go," he interrupted her hoarsely. "I wish you all luck. Good bye."

"You mustn't run away so quickly, please! Look, my father hasn't even finished the inspection yet! And on the whole – is it really necessary that you – well –"

"I know that my enterprise isn't making you any happy, Miss Swann; I hope you can forgive me for that, but I do serve the crown, and cannot neglect my duties. Jack Sparrow _is _a pirate, and it is my job to capture him, no matter how sore this makes those worrying for him!"

"No, Commodore," she answered weakly, "I know that. You and he both saved my life, so my prayers must be that you return without success, but healthy and uninjured."

He smiled wryly. "You do care for him, don't you?"

"Oh, I think he needs somebody taking care, as he is utterly careless himself!" She mastered her best smile. "He is a good person, Commodore, may he be a pirate. You know how he took Nassau Port without firing a single shot – does such a man deserve the gallows?"

"As it is, King Charles in his colonies does not punish only pirates with death, but robbers as well, Miss Swann. He might be no pirate in your books, but surely he is a robber!"

"Ah, he _is_ a pirate in my books, without a doubt. In fact I'd say he is a pirate like the books write about – or rather say, his spirit is, if not his manners!"

He bowed once more and laughed. "Then _you_ perhaps should write a book about Jack Sparrow, Miss Swann! So our king can read it and make up his mind how to deal with such peculiar fellows!"

"I should hurry then, as I must assume that you shall find him very soon," she replied in an equally playful voice, relieved to have entered a less grave level.

He raised his brows. "No need to worry! After sinking the Interceptor to the bottom of the sea, Jack Sparrow has a good chance to flee us. The Dauntless is strong and nigh invincible, but she is comparably slow. Considering that Captain Sparrow is a man of cunning, I expect him to have mended his sails, rendering the Black Pearl to be one of the fastest ships in these waters!"

"So you have no hope of a soon comeback?"

The smile disappeared and he avoided looking at her. "No, I haven't, and what should I come back for anyway? The longer our hunt will take, the better for me. You and your father will meet my deputy, Captain Filister, and I assure you, he is a man of merit and skills. You will hardly notice my absence; actually I'm inclined to believe that you may come to appreciate it."

She lowered her gaze, blushing and sighing, "I cannot imagine that, Commodore! An old friend like you cannot be replaced by another, merit or not!"

He opened his mouth, but shut it in the next moment and shrugged. She knew what he had been about to say, and thanked him silently for his tact. She had already replaced him once – how should he believe that she wouldn't do so again?

"Captain Filister is an exquisite sailor, and almost as famous for his pleasant manners, Miss Swann. I think you should give him a chance to prove them!"

"I did not mean to be unjust, we shall welcome him with all due kindness. All I meant was that he wouldn't be able to replace _you_ in our midst. Return safely, Commodore Norrington!"

She felt excessively bad about all this; and regretted to have come at all. She meant what she said; she regarded the Commodore as an old friend and she would not want to miss him. She hoped for him to return in all health, and was certain that no substitute could take his place, neither with her father nor with herself. But the more she said, the more she seemed to harm him, she could read it in his face.

Governor Swann returned from his inspection and occupied the Commodore, much to his daughter's luck. She wanted to get away from this place, from the Commodore, it was all too much for her.


	2. The Deputy

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**The Deputy**

* * *

Elizabeth was very upset and exhausted after returning home, and could not decide whether she was glad or not to find her best, her only real friend really, Miss Henrietta Van Dyke, sitting in the parlour. Miss Van Dyke had come to call on her after the troublesome events of the previous day. She hadn't expected that Elizabeth would accompany her father, and decided to wait for her friend.

"Oh Hen," Elizabeth sighed after they had sat down.

"I've heard you broke up with your fiancé?"

Elizabeth blushed fiercely and bit her lip. "Yes –"

"And you've found yourself a new one on the spot?"

"Yes!" Now she beamed, and all the night's excitement returned to her with a vengeance.

"Did you faint again?"

"Hen!" Elizabeth cast her a reproachful look, but went on just as excitedly as before, "Will has asked me to marry him! Can you believe it?"

"What I find much harder to believe is that you have accepted, my dear," Miss Van Dyke replied with a subtle smile. "What does your father say to _that_, I wonder?"

"Oh, I think he's still in a state of shock, you know. But how can you be surprised, Hen? If anyone, I thought _you_ had figured me out!"

"My dearest Elizabeth, if you ask me whether I guessed that you've got a crush on young Mr Turner – obviously I guessed _that_. What amazes me is the fact that you have agreed to undo your prior engagement and marry him instead."

This was no hollow phrase – Henrietta couldn't have been more astonished. She was aware how impulsive her friend Elizabeth was, that she wasn't exactly reasonable very often, that she would act rash and inconsiderate sometimes. But that she could do something _so_ silly was too much, even for her best friend. Henrietta Van Dyke was quite the opposite in temper and disposition. She was the only daughter of a Dutch merchant that had settled in Port Royal seven years ago and she was the only girl that was similar to Elizabeth in age and situation, so they had naturally become friends. Henrietta was an utmost sensible girl, and romantic gushing had certainly never been her field of expertise. She had always encouraged Elisabeth to give way to the Commodore, knowing too well that she wasn't in love with him, but also convinced that this didn't matter too much. Her idea of a good marriage wasn't governed by romance; she relied on sounder foundations, like equality of situation, for example.

For quite some time, Governor Swann had set all his hopes in Miss Van Dyke to correct Elizabeth's sometimes very wild manners. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that she was British, so reserved and composed she was, calm and thoughtful. But perhaps the two young ladies were just _too_ different, because it hadn't worked. Lucky for the Governor that he had another plan up his sleeve yet.

"Of course I have agreed, Hen!" Elizabeth exclaimed in this moment. "Will is so – so – he's wonderful! He is upright and brave –"

"So is the Commodore, my dear. Upright, brave – yes, yes – for the past ten years, he's done practically nothing else but being brave and upright!"

"You're teasing me, Hen. For sure, the Commodore is a very good sort of man. He's what every girl should dream of marrying," Elizabeth murmured, feeling awfully ashamed.

"Every girl but you, eh? Come on, what's wrong with you? I knew that you weren't crazy about him like you were about your Will Turner, but being crazy for someone isn't necessarily a good foundation for marriage. The Commodore is a _smart_ match, and not even you can fail to see that Mr Turner is no such thing."

"Smart! That's _your_ field of expertise, Hen. I don't want to get married because it's _smart_! I want to marry the man that I _love_ and nothing else."

Henrietta nodded and smirked. "Love, all right. I see. So what is love to you, eh? The stuff that you read about in those crappy novels that you keep on reading and hiding?"

Elizabeth blushed even more. How could her friend humble her like this! Truth was that, _yes_, those books indeed had something to do with her attitude. They had taught her that her feelings for James weren't the sort of feeling that she ought to be feeling to get married to him, but for some time, she had fooled herself to believe that honest regard would be enough to get by.

"Hen, seriously – I couldn't be marrying James, when my heart beats faster each time I see Will, right?"

"I kind of see the problem, Elizabeth, but in this case the question remains still – why did you accept the Commodore's proposal in the first place?"

"Because everyone, including you, my dear Henrietta, kept on assuring me how _smart_ it would be! He is intelligent, powerful, rich and kind, and I meant that Will didn't love me anyway. _You_ told me that there was no use in pining for him!"

"Now don't you blame me, or your good father. I still think that there's no reason to be pining for him."

"Exactly, because now he is mine."

Henrietta gave up and changed the topic. "So, tell me – does your dear Mr Turner kiss better than the Commodore?"

Elizabeth blushed up to her ears. "Hen! Sh! How can you ask me something like that?!"

"Very easily!" Miss Van Dyke arched an eyebrow. "You've been engaged to him for almost a month! Did he never try – I mean – he's no saint, is he?"

"Apparently, his mind is so much purer than _yours_, my dear friend! No, he did _not_ try to kiss me, and I don't think I would have allowed him to do so either! You _know_ that I've never kissed the Commodore!"

"Really? And I had thought you simply omitted to tell me. After all, you were _engaged_ to him!"

"I'm not one of those girls, Hen," Elizabeth gnarled, making her friend laugh out loud.

"So why is it that my father told me that you were seen yesterday, kissing young Mr Turner in broad daylight?"

"That's different! Me and Will – we've waited for so long –"

Henrietta discretely rolled her eyes behind her fan, thinking that Elizabeth had somehow lost her mind completely. She herself had never been in love, and she didn't think she ever would be. She wasn't like Elizabeth; she wasn't the romantic type, and not for the world she would have allowed _anyone_ to witness her _kissing_ someone, let alone half of the town and an entire Navy Corps. Personally, she found this a deplorable lack of tact – kissing a man in front of all her former fiancé's officers. The good Commodore didn't deserve that, and that was exactly what she told Elizabeth, too.

"I know, Hen," she said awkwardly. "I guess we were just overwhelmed by emotion, you see –"

No, Miss Van Dyke did _not_ see. Overcome by emotion – what was this supposed to mean, except a feeble excuse for Elizabeth to behave inappropriately? She loved her friend, but she wasn't blind for her faults. Clearly, the good Commodore _was_ blind for them, poor man. He would get over her, surely; there must be hundreds of young women just waiting to say yes to a man like him. Personally, Henrietta had sworn herself to never marry a sailor; she deemed seafaring a most dangerous business, thoroughly unfit for her to base conjugal life upon. _If_ she ever was to marry, she wasn't inclined to raise her children as a widow. On the other hand – for a man like the good Commodore, even she would have been willing to consider a change of mind.

Despite all her affirmations to never marry a sailor, _she_ would have accepted the Commander straight away, had he ever done so much as look at her. He was a _smart_ match, and smartness was what counted in her mind; Commodore Norrington was a man of sense and every other quality that she ranked highly. She was glad to see her friend Elizabeth so happy, but it didn't blur her perception. As nice as he surely was, and 'tender, passionate, sensitive and strong', and all the other attributes that Elizabeth bestowed on him so lavishly now – she found it a downright silly thing to form an engagement with Will Turner. He wasn't even of age, he was poor, he was a blacksmith, and his father had been a notorious pirate; no, she wouldn't rejoice in her best friend marrying him, no matter what this one told her. Additionally, she knew her friend well enough to have some doubts whether she'd have the patience for an engagement that would last at least some years. She might be ecstatic about the boy now, but like a fire of straw, ecstasy usually wasn't burning very long; both needed something more solid to feed on.

To tease Elizabeth some more, she asked, "So, you never kissed your first fiancé, all right. But how does your Will compare to Captain Sparrow?"

"Hen!"

"I'd imagine such a pirate to appeal very much to you, no? So wild – so dissolute – I've heard vile stories, giving me the idea that you've spared the most interesting parts of your little trip! Marooned on an island with a notorious pirate and little hope to be found – gets my imagination going, you know?"

"I never kissed Jack Sparrow, Hen! Goodness, what a vivid imagination you've got!"

"What else is there to do in such an insipid place like ours? _I_ would have kissed him, to be sure. How often does a respectable girl get the opportunity to kiss a real pirate?"

"You only speak like that because your heart is still free," Elisabeth said solemnly. "I couldn't think of kissing any other man than my Will –"

"No, you've kissed none, you got engaged right away!"

"_Hen!_ Stop it! I only agreed to marry James –"

"James it is now, eh? Whatever became of the bashful 'Commodore'?" Henrietta clearly had the time of her life, taking the mickey out of her friend, but seeing that one's vexation, she turned serious again. "All right, all right! Don't be offended! Please do tell me now about your beloved Will Turner, I'm desperate to know!"

"Oh Hen! He's _wonderful_! He is so tender, and yet so passionate – so sensitive, but also strong –" Elizabeth was so enraptured that it escaped her that her friend was rolling her eyes with such praise. "Butterflies were flying through my veins, Hen," she proceeded and described the effects of Will Turner's kisses, and Henrietta was benign enough not to speak out loud that she imagined this to be a rather unpleasant and tickling feeling.

The object of all the gushing came for a visit on the next day, and luckily, Elizabeth was more well-rested when receiving him, or her exuberance might have overtaxed the diffident young man. And although Governor Swann was not amused, he could scarcely forbid his daughter to see her fiancé. He winced with the sheer sight of the boy, whom he had always valued as an adept craftsman, a decent person and a pitiable orphan just as well. In _these_ respects, Will Turner was a fine young man and would have been welcome to the Governor's household – in the servants' quarters. But being his beloved daughter's _fiancé_ was quite a different story; every feeling revolved, and he could find only one acceptable thing in it – Elisabeth was clearly happy.

Governor Swann hadn't married early in life, he had been already 41 when wooing his young bride Mary. This one had given birth to Elisabeth two years later, and died in child-bed, grieving her husband beyond expression. He hadn't married a second time, would never have done so much as considering it, as there could be no other woman in the world comparable to his dear Mary. Consequently, he had bestowed all his affection on his daughter, who was an image of her dead mother; he had been patient and indulgent, finding that the poor girl was already punished to grow up without a mother. Perhaps, he thought now, he had been a little _too_ indulgent, too lazy in giving her principles, too old to be a proper guide. Something must have gone terribly wrong, he had no other explanation for her latest conduct, but was also far from blaming her. His affection and sweet temper wouldn't allow to see any fault in his daughter, so he found it in himself, and maybe rightfully so. However, he was most unhappy with the situation on the whole.

The Governor was a man of delicate feelings, which nobody had perceived but his dear late wife; in fact, most people thought him to be quite unperturbed and thoughtless. This resulted from an awkwardness that he was too ashamed of to be able acknowledging it, and although Elisabeth herself had appeared appalled with his manner against Commodore Norrington this morning, he had only acted like that to spare her more trouble. He had tried to draw all the attention to himself and away from her, apprehensive of her feelings. She had broken the poor fellow's heart, and she knew it, he could judge from her features how guilty she felt. But it had to be done; he had foreseen it, had indeed advised her to break off the engagement. Governor Swann would have been utterly happy, had his daughter attached herself to the worthy young man, but he loved her too well and thought too highly of the young officer to wish for a relation that wasn't founded on mutual affection.

Well, her present admirer was just as fond of her as poor Norrington, and she appeared to have fancied him half of her life, too, so in terms of _affection_, there was nothing left to wish for. But in all others! He had scruples to say it to Elizabeth's face so openly, but he could find _nothing_ in the whole affair that let him believe in her future happiness. It would take ages until the young man could afford to marry anyone, and some years more until he could afford to marry a woman like Elizabeth Swann! She would be twenty-fife, thirty perhaps when finally walking to the altar! He knew his daughter, he _knew_ her impatience and quick temper – how should she wait for a man for so long without losing some of her spirits? How many other men would she meet that might incense her, being bound to a man who could, at his best, never offer her much more than his heart and two warm meals a day?

For that was another problem in the Governor's eyes – his daughter was accustomed to a life of affluence and comfort. Taking her away from England might have spared her some of the spoiling of her fellow sex; Port Royal wasn't London, it was not even Kingston or Nassau. But he couldn't picture her living as a craftsman's wife, with perhaps two or three servants, wearing plain clothes, inhabiting a house in the middle of ordinary people, who were much more vulgar in Port Royal than they would have been in Kingston. The town had only begun to be truly civilised after his own arrival, and he did not flatter himself – it had been Commodore Norrington's labour that had raised it so far. Before, it had been pillaged by pirates twice a year at least, who had returned whenever the inhabitants had restored enough to be worth taken. The last eight years had rendered the town more peaceful, had elevated it from a mere settlement to a proper town, but eight years weren't enough to change its people. Will Turner might well be the only decent civilian in a whole town of drunkards and scoundrels, but could that be sufficient for his beloved daughter? He strongly doubted it.

He stood at the window of his study and looked down into the beautiful, tropical garden, where Elizabeth and her suitor were taking a walk. He couldn't deny it, they were a handsome couple. The boy – for he wasn't much more than a boy, only nineteen years old – seemed incapable to grasp his own luck, goggling at his fiancée with admiration and incredulity. Elizabeth on the other hand was more confident, more assured of herself, and glowed with enthusiasm. It suited her well, and melancholically, the Governor remembered her mother. It was still beyond his grasp how a woman like her could have fallen in love with a man like himself; he didn't think so for being modest, which he wasn't. But the gap in age – Mary had been only 22 when accepting his hand – had seemed unconquerable to him. When he had asked her to become his wife, he had been prepared for being refused, but he couldn't have helped it nevertheless. He _must_ ask her, no matter what would be her answer, for she had been the loveliest creature to walk this earth.

Will Turner showed the same marks now, he being too young, where Governor Swann had been too old, and having nothing to recommend himself apart from a gentle heart and a handsome face. He _was_ handsome, the Governor had too much taste to deny it, but so was the Commodore. Clearly, it wasn't the evenness of features that counted in Elizabeth's books. The Governor simply could not understand it. Everything that might endear her to William Turner, she would have found in abundance in Commodore Norrington as well, who after all had so much more to offer, and not only in the materialistic respect. When her father had hoped that she would marry the Commodore, he had only had her best in mind.

Alas, regret would not do, and with a deep sigh, he turned away from the window and returned to his desk. The new Commandant of the fort was expected tomorrow, and once more, he read the letter of recommendation that the Commodore had left. Captain Francis Filister was his name; up to now, he had captained the HMS Fortuna, which took berth in Nassau and was to be discarded soon. Her last journey would bring her to Port Royal and with her the Captain, who should substitute as the Head of the Navy Corps until Commodore Norrington's return and wait here for his new vessel. According to this letter, he was a very worthy officer, in his late twenties only, but with the merits of an older man, and Governor Swann's friendly temper let him assume at once that he should be very fond of the young officer. And perhaps…

"My dearest child," he murmured, smiled and sipped his wine at dinner. "I hope you have not forgotten in all your excitement that we are to welcome Captain Filister tomorrow?"

"Of course not, Father. And I shall be glad to welcome him fairly, as long as you do not force me into another corset!"

He chuckled, "Will you ever stop mocking me for this thing, Elizabeth? When I bought the dress, I was told that it was the latest fashion in London. I'm no expert in this field, and I found it very pretty. Besides, your friend Mr Sparrow ripped it anyway, and I promise to buy no new one."

"That should increase my life expectancy immensely! Just imagine how healthy I could be without constant fainting, falling off cliffs, or suffocating?"

He laughed and shook his head. "I've heard that the Captain is a very honourable man – let us hope that he isn't disappointed with Port Royal, after harbouring so long in Nassau!"

"That _still_ doesn't tempt me to wrap myself into fashionable breathlessness." She grinned. "And if Captain Filister isn't satisfied with our humble abode – well, he isn't to stay long anyway, is he?"

"I don't mean to sound prejudiced against the man himself, but we can only hope. Should Commodore Norrington not come back – God bless him – the Captain would probably be his successor!"

Elizabeth turned pale. "But why shouldn't he come back, Father? The Dauntless is the power in these waters!"

"But it isn't invulnerable still, dear child. The Commodore is a fantastic sailor, and all the odds are in his favour, but you never know. Better accustom yourself to Captain Filister, it cannot do harm."

She shuddered. "Please Father, don't speak like that! Commodore Norrington, not to return to Port Royal! I pray you, it's bad luck to talk in this fashion!"

"Since when are you so superstitious, my dear? _You_ of all people!"

"I hadn't believed in ghost stories either, until actually facing a crew of skeletons!"

Yes, this was true. The Governor, although no match for his daughter in smartness, was still a man of information and had always been ruled by sense. Hadn't he seen this damned crew with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it. Ghosts and haunting spirits had belonged to fairy tales and children's stories in his mind; coming from England, where almost every old house had its own story of spooking lost souls, he had always dismissed these tales as results of an imagination running wild. After all, he wasn't really so terribly concerned for the Commodore's sake; he was almost perfectly certain that he'd return to them sound and safe. His original intention had been to introduce the matter of the respectable Captain Filister to his daughter and soften her against him if possible. She might have found fault with one honourable officer, but who could say how she'd find the next?

The afternoon came, and with it the HMS Fortuna, an old, dignified ship that had seen a great many battles, and though she _looked_ like stableness itself, an experienced eye could well see that she was no longer. Governor Swann and his daughter had dutifully hurried down to the docks, and while the former was quite exited, the latter was merely tired and bored. A new Captain, oh well, she couldn't have cared much less.

How disinterested she might ever have been, the sight of the actual man changed her mind at once. That Captain who now came towards them was quite different from what she had anticipated. He was tall and had a good figure, holding himself gracefully, and coming nearer, she was amazed to spot an air of easiness and good humour that she had never seen before in a man of rank, so very unlike the Commodore, or Gillette, for an instance.

"Welcome to Port Royal," her father greeted him, and the two men exchanged all due formalities, before she was introduced. Captain Filister smirked pleasantly. "It's a pleasure to see that Port Royal isn't only the home of some of England's finest sailors. I hadn't expected to meet an enchanting young lady such as yourself, Miss Swann!"

"You must have a very bad opinion of us, Captain Filister! I wonder how we're spoken of in Nassau!"

"You needn't worry, Miss! Of _you_, I've heard only the best, many of my officers who had been so lucky having been here, wouldn't cease praising your beauty and charms. But you know how it is – we sailors like to spin a yarn, and one better doesn't believe a single thing we say until it's being proven!"

She gave him a friendly smile, satisfied with his civilities, and seized the opportunity to have a closer look. His features weren't perfectly regular, and weathered by the sun and wind. His tan yet emphasised a set of startling bright blue eyes, that blinked at her and betrayed that he was smiling and laughing a lot. She wondered how old he might be, estimating him to be approximately in James Norrington's age, his complexion rendering him older, but his cheerfulness letting him appear much younger than this one. 'Fun' was one of the things desperately missing in a place like Port Royal, and Captain Filister promised indeed to be a worthy addition to the town. So her father seemed to think; he now chatted animatedly with the newcomer, about their journey, about the awaited new ship, and slyly, Elizabeth made use of her fan to hide herself behind it and observe the Captain some more.

She found that, on the second look, there was something else about his face that was hard to decipher, a spark of gloom underneath the smirks and laughter lines, that was quite becoming, and she wondered where it might derive from.

Well, she'd have plenty of time and possibility to find out; for a start, the whole party was to have lunch in the Governor's house. Captain Filister, his First Lieutenant Mr Hart, the Second Lieutenant Mr Hawkins and Lieutenant Gillette, who had solemnly passed the command on to the Commodore's deputy, had all decided to walk up to the house, as the Captain had chuckled, "Oh no, Sir, we better go by foot. Even a great ship like the Fortuna offers only little place to exercise, so I hope you'll excuse us for slighting your kind offer for the sake of some walking! It'll do us all good!"

The second carriage was sent away, and Elisabeth and her father went up on their own. "How did you like them, my dear? I must say, I'm very pleased with the lot of them!"

"Oh, I do like them very well, Father. It is nice to have somebody around for a change who actually knows how to smile!"

The Governor nodded. "Yes, indeed! Very agreeable manners, and the Captain is as fine a man as I've ever seen!"

"Father," she cried, shaking her head. "I know what you're up to!"

"I'm up to nothing, my dearest Elisabeth, I'm just speaking my mind!"

"Yes, a mind full of scheming, I know you too well!"

This was true, he thought to himself, his daughter could see right through him, just like her mother had. He hadn't allowed himself to set too much hope in the Captain before his actual arrival, but now, the tables seemed to turn. He did not possess Elisabeth's gift of understanding others, but knew enough of his own daughter to see that she did like the Captain, and was this bad for a start?

The lunch was as agreeable as the manners of the attending guests, and everyone agreed that they needed to continue their conversations in the evening. Governor Swann hurried to invite some others of the first families, namely the Van Dykes, Reverend Martin and his wife, and Dr Jennings, the old physician. Reverend Martin was a man of fifty years and a good vicar for the small congregation, his wife was a practical woman, and their six children equalled her in temper and sense. All of them were looking forward to meet the new assessments to their community, and with a saucy look, Elizabeth told her friend Henrietta, "I dare say that you will be enchanted by the Captain, Henrietta. If only you were willing to give your heart to a sailor!"

"Ah, I'm more like you, my dear. I prefer a man who keeps his feet firmly on the ground. Now tell me! Did you find yourself a new suitor among the officers?"

She received a friendly nudge for this remark. Elizabeth was ready to fatigue her friend some more wit more gushing about dear Will, hadn't Scott announced in this moment – "Ladies and gentlemen, the officers have arrived!"

"Now I can't wait to see _them_," Henrietta said under her breath, being utterly mistaken by Elizabeth, who smiled roguishly. In fact, nothing could be further from Miss Van Dyke's mind than fancying one of the new officers for herself, but if it was true what Elizabeth had told her, she supposed Will Turner to get a serious rival soon.

The four gentlemen came in and were instantly surrounded by the curious crowd, even poor Lieutenant Gillette receiving his share of interest. This did not happen too often; for some reason or other, he wasn't very popular, and had been to the Governor's house only four or five times before. He obviously enjoyed himself and his newly gained status, for his rank might have been lowered by Captain Filister's arrival – he had represented the Commodore in the last days – but he seemed to feel no grudge about it. Instead, he talked and laughed gaily, outclassed by the far more interesting Captain, but possibly accustomed to this state anyway.

"You happen to know Mr and Mrs Callahan in Nassau?"

"What about Admiral Thompson?"

"Have you been to Kingston lately?"

Captain Filister answered every question with accuracy and good humour, and it took only half an hour to endear him to everybody present. Even Henrietta acknowledged quietly, "I must say, you were right, Lizzy! He seems to be a thoroughly pleasant man!"

"Ah, do I hear you changing your mind after all, Hen?" Elizabeth replied just as softly from behind her fan. "A sailor for you, perhaps?"

"No, I rather wait for another blacksmith to rob my heart, dear; I've heard the most amazing things about the qualities of members of this profession!"

A few minutes later, the busy Captain managed to come over to them at last, clearly a little exhausted, and taking a seat next to Miss Van Dyke. "Pooh, I wouldn't have guessed how much I could be speaking! Our life is usually so boring, and you might imagine how insipid conversations on a ship can be after half a year at sea!"

"That doesn't sound very different from our lives here," Henrietta remarked dryly.

"That couldn't be, could it? My cousin tells me Port Royal was a quite lively town!"

"Your cousin, Captain?"

He beckoned over to the figure of Lieutenant Gillette. "Excuse me, of course you couldn't know. Yes, indeed, Lieutenant Gillette is a second grade cousin of mine. We haven't met in _ages_!"

"How interesting!" Elizabeth cried, thinking that this was the first time ever that she'd use the word 'interesting' in a sentence referring to the hapless Lieutenant.

"I've heard some things that promise to be far more interesting, Miss Swann! I've received intelligence that congratulations are in order – you're freshly engaged, I believe?"

"I am, Captain Filister!"

"Well, and where is the lucky fellow? I hope to meet the happiest man in the Eastern Caribbean!" He was smiling nicely, and not even a benevolent friend like Henrietta could mistake his civility for flirtation.

"And you shall! If you should ever be in need of an exquisite blade, you will find no better than those manufactured by my fiancé," Elizabeth replied self-confidently.

She had expected him to show some astonishment, or scorn even, but suiting his whole air, he merely laughed. "That sounds promising, and indeed, I _am_ in want of a good sword. I should visit him as soon as I can! And what about you, Miss Van Dyke?"

Elizabeth was inwardly beaming with joy, but tried hard to not let it show. How wonderful, that the Captain should inquire for Henrietta so directly! The young woman wasn't quite as gratified as she should be in her friend's eyes, but smiled friendly nevertheless. "Oh, as it seems, all the promising young men in Port Royal always fall for Miss Swann here – saves me many predicaments, you see?"

"Shall I believe that, Miss Swann? You truly are a man-eater, and draw everyone's attention away from your charming young friend?"

"Absolutely not, Sir! Miss Van Dyke is exaggerating, but that's just her style. She is such a good laugh!" Elizabeth cried playfully, seeing her schemes in action already. Surely, Captain Filister would esteem nothing so highly in a woman than a good sense of humour.

"How very nice!"

"So what about you, Captain? How many broken hearts are waiting in some harbour for their bonny's return?"

"Oh, none, I believe… The only broken heart –" His voice faltered and he averted his face.

Elizabeth sensed uneasily that they had touched a painful matter here, but Henrietta asked without mercy, "What a girl would be so bold as to break your heart then, Sir? Is't possible?"

He seemed to fight with himself, before murmuring, "Not bold, but ill, Miss Van Dyke. My fiancée – I've been engaged to the most lovely Miss of the whole of Nassau, but I was robbed of her due to a severe illness –"

Both girls clapped their hands to their mouths with shock, and Henrietta hurried to say, "Oh, excuse me, Captain! I hadn't meant to – I did not know – be assured of our compassion!"

"Thank you, Miss Van Dyke…"

"When – and how – did this happen?" Elizabeth asked breathlessly. "How very dreadful!"

"Yes, it was dreadful, very much indeed. I – It happened roughly two years ago. After coming home from the most successful campaign, more so, finally being able to marry her – I had to learn that – my beloved Jane had gone for good…"

Tragic as this certainly was, and despite her genuine pity, Elisabeth could not help it but notice that two years were quite some time. Perhaps he would recover, if only he found another, just as lovely woman? Her friend Henrietta _was_ lovely, with her light blonde hair and her bright blue eyes, her fine complexion and the same air of cheerfulness like him. Elizabeth couldn't think of a better girl to make him forget his grief.

With great interest, she heard the whole story. Apparently, his 'beloved Jane' had been the daughter of his Captain, when Captain Filister himself had been the First Lieutenant of the Fortuna yet. As old Captain Barnes had been killed in battle, which had been won after all and led to the destruction of a heavily armed pirate vessel, his promotion had been at hand, and with it the possibility to marry the lady. How cruel this irony had struck him! He ended his story with the whispered words, "The death of Captain Black and his darned crew had become worthless to me within a heartbeat. No one could imagine a more sudden drop, from highest elation to deepest mourning!"

The ladies were appropriately affected by the sad story and expressed themselves accordingly, while Captain Filister still wouldn't look up. Elizabeth remembered her first impression of his underlying gloom, and understood its origin now. Poor man! Even poor James' fate must appear secondary compared to such woe!

They were joined by Lieutenant Gillette, and it was he who gave further explanation of Captain Filister's fame, modestly objected by this one. Of course, Elizabeth had heard of the story before by coverage of the officers' reports and newspapers, but she had forgotten most of it. Now it came back to her – two years earlier, one of the last big pirate threats, Captain Horatio Black and his crew, had been vanquished by the Fortuna. Heavy losses had been suffered, more than half of the Fortuna's crew had lost their lives to the noble cause, but in the end, Lieutenant Filister had been able to present the villain's infamous scimitar to Admiral Thompson, Head of the Navy of Nassau Port. The Lieutenant had been promoted instantly, and his great victory and the resulting fame had been enough to expel other pirates from the area. Elizabeth was very pleased indeed to hear about the Captain's merits, endearing him even more to her. Yes, such a man could tempt even her dear friend Henrietta, she would take care of that, a man of such honour, grieved by tragic loss, must be rewarded with the hand of a good woman!

She deemed to already spy some marks of admiration in her friend, who would ask a lot and nod enthusiastically with Gillette's report when it reminded her of something she had heard earlier. Elizabeth found that after all of Henrietta's recommendations of noble James Norrington, she could hardly be oblivious to Captain Filister's worth, who was additionally almost as handsome, surely more fun, and who couldn't be far away from another promotion, being a favourite with Admiral Thompson already. What else could be there to ask for?


	3. Two Men

* * *

**Two Men**

* * *

Two very different men were lying in their beds this night, incapable to find sleep and failing for the same reason. This reason was Elizabeth Swann, and one of the men was William Turner, her new fiancé.

Considering how unfortunate his entire life had been up to now, nothing had prepared him to handle such sheer bliss as he was feeling now. The loveliest girl in the world had the grace to be in love with him – _him_, a poor orphan, son of the infamous Bootstrap Bill, and underrated by almost anyone who had ever met him. Not in his boldest dreams, he had ever dared to do so much as _hope_ that he could be able to attach sweet Elizabeth! In her presence, he had hardly managed to speak, or breathe, ever since he had been fourteen, her sight had made his heart beat faster, and her voice had been like music to his ears.

But Miss Swann was a lady, she was the Governor's only daughter, she was heaven itself – in short, she had been as far from Will Turner's reach as the moon, and to his greatest distress, he had been well aware of this apparent fact all the time. She had always treated him very good, she had been more than just civil, she had been kind and obliging, but he had thought this to be just her nature. Not once he had meant that this heavenly creature could possibly love him back. But she _did_! It was too good to be true!

She was his with hand and heart, and that although he had already deemed all hopes to be gone – she had been engaged to Commodore Norrington. But as it had turned out, she had only accepted this one's offer because of himself, to save Will Turner when he had been in most dire need!

He had been entirely mistaken in his perception; he had taken it for granted that Elizabeth would marry the Commodore, long before this one had even asked her. Commodore Norrington, with his tall figure and natural superiority had appeared like the perfect match for lovely Elizabeth – who else should woo such a woman if not him? Admittedly, Port Royal possessed no wide variety of eligible bachelors, but that did not detract from the Commodore's merits, nor made him any less impressive. As a matter of fact, young Will Turner had idolised him ever since the day that they had fished him out of the ocean. Eight years ago, he had been a boy of eleven years, and although Norrington had been merely the First Lieutenant, he had exceedingly intimidated the confused boy. He had been the actual Commander, as the old and senile Captain Harris hadn't been able to do anything himself, and Will had admired the young officer's determination and skill. His old, deep loathing for pirates was rooted in these days, when he had hidden himself somewhere on deck to watch Lieutenant Norrington. To hold himself like this one, to be able mastering a sword like him – yes, one could well say that he had been an idol for the young boy.

Only recently, the tables had turned, the more conscious he had become of his long-standing regard for Elizabeth, the more his jealousy had ruled him. For the first time, he could have found fault with the Captain, later Commodore, unjust and unfounded, but fervent still. A man who would wed Miss Swann should be more committing, should have showed more fervour and devotion. When they had travelled back from the Isla de Muerta, he had avoided the sight of them, afraid that the Commodore could adopt just this behaviour. But even a great vessel like the Dauntless was too small for avoiding somebody completely, all the more the Commander of the ship. Despite himself and his nagging envy, Will had seen himself forced to restore his old respect for an excellent sailor and a fine gentleman. It had been a source of comfort to him to think of Elizabeth as the future Mrs. Commodore, he would make her a good, respectable husband.

Well, as things were now, Will could muster a good deal of compassion for the Commodore indeed. Poor man! To be engaged to the love of his life in one moment, and let go of her in the next – that was tough, and once again, Will admired the Commodore's flawless pose. No gentleman could have acted with more fortitude, he had actually wished his former fiancée and himself _luck_. The true greatness that had been displayed in such conduct was more impressive than all his famous victories together. But Will wasn't so selfless as to withdraw for his rival's sake, now that he knew that Elizabeth loved him too; _that_ would have been too much to ask indeed.

His only sorrow now was _when_ he would be allowed to marry the sweetest of all women, and that was a big problem indeed. He had no idea at all how he should raise enough money to be able of offering her the life that she deserved, and none of Elizabeth's soothing would help him. He felt that she had no clue what he was talking about; money had never been important to her, simply because she had always got more than enough of it. She didn't know that all the work of a blacksmith, how good he might ever be, simply wasn't enough to afford a marriage to a woman like her. Briefly, he had considered to join the Navy as well; he was a very good sword fighter, and if one knew that his father had been a gifted sailor… But that would take too long; with all his merits, Captain Norrington had needed fifteen years until being made a Commodore. He could impossibly wait _fifteen_ years to marry Elizabeth! It would have been a good idea, but it would not do.

Those were the sorrows and delights of Will Turner, whereas the delight outclassed the worry by far. With a girl like Elizabeth at his side, what could be there to truly fear or fret about?

There was yet another man tossing and turning in his berth, desperate with the memory of said lady, all of his prospects had been lost and destroyed in the same moment of Will Turner's elation. Commodore James Norrington couldn't sleep with grief, and unfortunately, this was not the first night seeing him in such a pitiable constitution. As a matter of fact, he had not really slept for seven days now; he had hardly eaten anything, and owed it to his pure will to keep himself up-right. He had never felt such misery, and was as little apt of dealing with it as Will Turner managed to handle his joy.

Elizabeth Swann was the epitome of perfection in his eyes, and he had loved her just as long as his in the end more successful rival. He had never got eyes for any other woman, and he couldn't imagine he would ever have. He hadn't believed that she was in love with him, no, but he had hoped that in time, she could learn how to love him, he had meant that his own unconquerable affection might be enough for the two of them. Admittedly, when he had asked her to be his wife, she hadn't answered but fainted. But his crazed fancy had made him believe she had fainted due to agitation – he himself had been ready to sink with it.

He had captained the Dauntless for five years, he was a sailor for almost fifteen years and had seen perhaps a hundred great battles, he had even faced a crew of immortal pirates – but nothing had ever frightened him anything like that afternoon. Although he had practised his speech so well, speaking it to himself every night for three weeks or more, he had scarcely found his voice, and had found it even more impossible to remember a single word of it. He had wished to tell her how ardent his love was, that he hoped to be allowed to rouse the same feelings in her, that he would wait for her as long as it would take. Well, not much of it had come out, and in his tension, he hadn't even noticed that she had fallen off the cliff. If only he had jumped after her in this moment! If only he hadn't listened to Gillette's warnings! Perhaps he would have died, crushing on the rocks underneath, but at least he would have died for her then. But no, he had listened to reason, in this case: Gillette, and in his eyes, this had only started the whole sad story. It had been Jack Sparrow's honour to be her rescuer, which had led to his arrest, which had led to this scoundrel enabling Will Turner to pursue her, which had made him a hero in her eyes…

Shortly, he had been angry with Jack Sparrow, finding him the culprit of this fiasco, but James Norrington was too reasonable a man to deceive himself long in this respect. To tell the truth, he even felt a strange sort of regard for 'Captain Sparrow' who had fooled him more than just once, and he wasn't fooled easily. He'd bring him to the gallows nevertheless, of course, but the Commodore was a sportsman, and appreciated having a worthy opponent. He would hunt him down and if it was the last thing he did, but as far as he was concerned, it could well take some time until he caught him in the end. He couldn't return to Port Royal before he hadn't rallied himself, and considering his present situation, he had the distinct impression that he wouldn't recover fast, if at all.

Oh Elizabeth… She wasn't only beautiful, in fact, her beauty was little compared to her other qualities; there was a fierce passion about her that had amused him when she had still been a little girl, and had irresistibly attracted him when she had become older. More so, she was smart and witty, determined and will-strong, sweet and amiable, caring and kind.

Of course, he couldn't name an exact day when he had fallen in love with her; she had been almost a child yet. Her lively temper, so different from his own, her vigour and easiness had endeared the girl to him in the most innocent way, and it had taken him some more years to realise how exceedingly fond he was of her. Before that, he had watched her with curious interest, amused, endeared, bewildered by the Governor's wild daughter. To acknowledge that he was in love with her had taken him by surprise; for the first time in his life, he had thought of marriage in a deeper way than only contemplating it for his more distant future. He had suddenly known that he'd never be truly happy without this girl, that being with somebody for the rest of his life could be more than just a matter of convenience, of general manner for a man in his position. It had also been the moment to understand that Elizabeth would never love himself in the same way. But perhaps, he had allowed himself to hope, he might be able to make her accustom to the idea of marrying him nevertheless. He had never asked for more.

That day when she had accepted his proposal, he had been the happiest man on earth. For a moment, he had hesitated – well, not seriously, he would have married her any time under the most terrible conditions – but he had asked her whether she had meant it sincere. He would have rowed to the end of the world for her, and freeing Will Turner had seemed a comparably small task, but in this moment and despite himself, he had wanted to know whether she married him for this purpose only. But her answer had rendered his doubts into sheer happiness – 'Your answer would not change mine; you are a fine man, James' she had whispered, and he had been so out of himself with bliss that he had nearly lost his pose. He knew that she hadn't lied to him in this moment; and she would have kept her word if he had demanded it. To his greatest dismay, this let her appear only more noble, not less. She would have abandoned the man that she loved to safe his life, she was willing to do whatever it would take, even marry someone else. But knowing this, how could he have tied her to her word then? All he cared for was she, her happiness – he wouldn't want to see her unhappy only because of himself, even if this meant his own heart to be breaking.

She would marry Will Turner, the young blacksmith, sooner or later. Of course, the boy needed to make his fortune first to afford it, but as Providence and sheer dumb luck seemed to be with these two, it could well be that the Governor died within the next five years, and being his only child, Elizabeth would inherit a handsome fortune. James doubted that Mr Turner would agree to marry her on that foundation, but on the other hand, he would also not manage to withstand her too long. All he – James – could hope for was that he would be on sea on that day, or at the bottom of the ocean!

His First Lieutenant, Robert Chandler, was the only one aboard who had some ideas about his superior's feelings. They had been sailing together for the greatest time that Chandler was in the Navy; he had started as a midshipman on the Dauntless ten years ago, and though having no connections worth mentioning, hard labour and great courage had advanced him to his present position. He was highly esteemed by the Commodore for his bravery, cleverness and sincerity, and if possible, they sailed together ever since. The other officer next to Lieutenant Chandler and slightly higher in rank was Lieutenant Gillette, but for some reasons, James couldn't stand him. He couldn't find a name for it; Gillette had never done anything wrong, no, but then, he hadn't distinguished himself either, he had become a First Lieutenant because he was a baronet's son, he was over-anxious, unlucky, and had a way of dealing superiority that James simply disliked. Being a sailor in His Majesty's Service for nearly half of his life, he knew that authority was necessary, the chain of command had to work without flaws. But he hated Gillette's ingratiating manners, his eagerness to please, his unreasonable conceit towards his inferiors which was undignified and unworthy of his origin, and as long as the Commodore had a say in appointing a Captain, Lieutenant Gillette would stand no chance of advancing himself any further.

"Sir, can I talk to you?"

James oppressed a sigh and turned around. "Of course. What is it?"

"I – Sir, I know it is not my place, but… You appear to be very subdued and – well –"

They exchanged a grave look; the Commodore _really_ had no wish to discuss his unhappy mood and Chandler knew that. On the other hand, he pitied his superior and found the cause for this one's grief unworthy. Robert Chandler had no sympathy for the spoilt daughters of rich men. He had even less sympathy for them when they were calculating and treacherous, and when they played their false game with a man as honourable and good as the Commodore.

"We still haven't found Captain Sparrow, Robert. Isn't that enough reason for a soldier to be subdued?"

"Excuse my liberty, Sir, but I fancy we're both aware that Captain Sparrow has nothing to do with your pallor lately. Look, I don't mean to intrude on your personal affairs, but – you see, the men rely on you. If nothing else, you have to be strong and confident for their sake –"

Despite himself, James smiled. "Stop talking such nonsense, Robert. You and I _are_ very much aware that all the men do care about right now is that we'll reach Tortuga in less than a week. If you want to disquiet yourself, you should worry about telling them that they're not going to get the permission to leave the ship."

"Come on, James. This is just the two of us speaking. No call for ceremony or false constraint. We're on sea for weeks by now, and instead of loosening up as I had hoped you would, you only got gloomier. It's not worth it. _She's_ not worth it –"

"No," James interrupted him sharply. "I forbid you to talk about Miss Swann in this fashion!"

"Forgive me. Still –"

"Still nothing. I know you mean well, Robert, and I thank you for that. Have I given you reason to criticise my leadership? If you want to blame me for not having captured Sparrow yet, I will listen to your charges. But do not blame me for my incapability to forget the woman so quickly that I hoped to marry. In my opinion, the one quality next to bravery that a soldier must have is loyalty. You don't want to take that away from me, do you?"

"James, there couldn't be a more capable soldier than you. No captain that I'd rather want to serve. No man more loyal. But this isn't about loyalty. You are an excellent man, and it simply pains me to see you in such a state. No matter how worthy you find her or how worthy she really might be, _no woman_ is worth of making you so unhappy. _Look at it!_ Somewhere out there is a woman that appreciates _your_ true worth. If you want to grieve about something, grieve about not having found her yet."

James chuckled and turned away to hide his baleful expression. "I'll keep that in mind, shall I? Honestly, I'm obliged to you for your care, Robert. I really am. I will try to be as cheerful as I possibly can, all right?"

"Miss Swann is a fair and worthy lady, but there are plenty of others just like her. Don't grief yourself for a woman who wouldn't have the same sentiments about yourself!"

"I shall give it a try." He smirked wryly. "And hope you will remember your words of wisdom if you should ever find yourself in the same situation as me!"

"If I do, I shall eat them, Sir." Chandler grinned, and shortly afterwards, James had sent him away. Now he was lying in his cabin, and in the East, he could see the first beams of the rising sun. It was going to be another beautiful day on the ocean, but after sailing these waters for so long, he no longer had eyes for such wonders, and even less in the past days. A sudden snow storm wouldn't have amazed him now, and probably, he would have regarded it only as a trite symbol of his own frozen self.


	4. Jealousy

* * *

**Jealousy**

* * *

The news about Commodore Norrington's worthy deputy had spread with lightning speed within the small community of Port Royal, and there was hardly a man or woman not eager to set eyes on him at last. He was praised for his military achievements, supposed to be dashingly good-looking, and even his pleasant manners couldn't be commended in a warmer fashion, although only few persons could boast to have encountered the man himself yet.

Henrietta Van Dyke however wasn't among his admirers, though she couldn't have explained herself as to why. She knew Elizabeth for eight years now, and not only her latest engagement implied that she would wish for a similar relation for her best friend, as Henrietta well knew. She was well aware of Elizabeth's scheming, and perhaps this was the reason why she felt more reserve than she would otherwise have. But a removal from Port Royal, as would inevitably have followed a marriage to an officer belonging to Nassau Port, was quite out of the question. She was very fond of her parents, and despite all her jokes about the town, she liked it excessively, and wouldn't leave if she could avoid it. She had been to Nassau some years ago, and hadn't found any pleasure during the entire duration of the journey. The inhabitants of this place had appeared too conceited, entirely prone to superficial delights, and all in all, Nassau Port would have been the last place on earth that she would have moved to voluntarily.

But it wasn't only the Fortuna's berth keeping her from a possible attachment to Captain Filister. He was a very fine sort of fellow, without a doubt, and even if she was far less romantically inclined than her dear friend Elizabeth, she expected more of a man that she should spend the rest of her days with. His great mobility, showing itself also in his alacrity of mind, was no exact virtue in Henrietta's eyes – she was more disposed to stay at home, and have a husband staying with her. Thus originated her dislike of engaging herself to a sailor in fact, and she would rather wait for a respectable tradesman like her father was than binding herself to a member of any nation's Navy.

Elizabeth had never accepted these objections; in her youth, her romantic ideal had been a pirate, the essence of a homeless life, and even after encountering real pirates who would correct her false expectations, she still saw no reason for any woman's reluctance of being a sailor's bride. Henrietta's composed temper would accustom herself to the lovely Captain, until she would finally see how narrow-minded her old views had been, for sure.

Until that, more pressing issues occupied her mind, namely the dire need of some profession for her beloved Will that would advance him as soon as possible. She wouldn't acknowledge it, but she understood what her father had tried to make intelligible to her – five, or heaven beware, _eight_ years were a long time for an engagement. She couldn't wait so long to become Mrs William Turner; well, she _would_ wait, but nevertheless it was worthwhile contemplating how the process might be quickened. They had talked about him joining the Navy, and she had little doubts that he would distinguish himself soon. Sailing was in his blood, and there couldn't be a better sword fighter in the whole Spanish Main. But it would still be too slow for her, and parting with him appeared like something that she could impossibly cope with. Seeing him sail away from Port Royal with uncertain comeback – she was already worried enough for James Norrington's well-being, so how should she endure dearest Will's absence? Will on the other hand fancied a Navy career, finding it the only profession that held some prospects in store for him. _He_ did _not_ seem to mind a long time of separation, as she occasionally thought with some vexation, but mostly, she was too madly in love with him to feel any discord.

Dear Will – what a gentle person he was. How timid! He indeed blushed when she addressed him tenderly, reaching out for her hand just to press it with great animation, and his kisses… No girl in the world had ever been kissed like that, Elizabeth was positively certain. There was longing tinged with delicacy, and his soft brown eyes sort of hypnotised her whenever he was closing in for a kiss. How she ever could have considered taking any man but him was beyond her understanding. Admittedly, she had accepted James' proposal to rescue dear Will, but then, she had been aware, too, that James would have complied anyway. That day – she couldn't but blush when thinking of it. She had just asked him to save Will as a wedding gift, he had been bewildered but agreed nevertheless, and then, he had led her to the rail and tried to speak to her, ask her how 'sincere' her consent had been… She hadn't really lied when telling him that she would have married him however he had decided – for had they _not_ set out to follow the Black Pearl and therefore her beloved Will, he would have been doomed and the only reason for Elizabeth's reluctance to become Mrs Norrington would have died with him.

Still, she felt burning shame when recollecting that conversation. It wasn't in the Commodore's nature to come out of his shell, so even the final consent of his beloved hadn't made him dance with joy. But there had been a glow in his eyes, on his cheeks, some movements quite unguarded that had betrayed his inner felicity, Elizabeth had spotted them very well. He was a _fine_ man, she once again repeated to herself, with a little sigh and a rush of complexion – why, oh why, had she been inflicted to hurt the feelings of so delicate and amiable a man?

He deserved a truly loving heart, no woman could be good enough to match such virtues, especially not somebody like herself. Next to her desire to see Will making a fortune within the next two years, there was only one matter pressing her so badly – good Commodore Norrington finding a worthy wife. Wryly she smirked with the idea that both pursuits were equally hard to accomplish!

It was quite ironic how many people had set their hearts on good Captain Filister, for not only Elizabeth plotted to make her friend Henrietta Van Dyke fall happily in love with him. Her own father, accustomed to his daughter's follies, had every hope to see his dear Elizabeth realising the worthiness of such a man. For a start, the Captain was in fact some years younger than Commodore Norrington and therefore much closer to Elizabeth in age. That could only come in handy. Secondly, as often acknowledged and praised by herself, he was a man of good humour, and being a cheerful spirit himself, Governor Swann rated this trait very highly. Elizabeth had a playful, sometimes untamed disposition, so she would need a husband equalling her in wits to capture her heart. If only good Captain Filister had come to Port Royal half a year earlier – the Governor had no doubt that she would have preferred him instantly to the boy she had picked now. With all his qualities, Will Turner couldn't be called a wit, not even his benevolent fiancée could claim that much. She certainly would have traded a set of wistful brown eyes for the sake of sparkling blue ones, her father was sure!

Perhaps the Captain hadn't so pretty a face as young Will Turner, or the noble straight features of the Commodore, but surely, he was more dashing than any of these. He looked very snappy in his blue coat, and his air of masculinity must impress any young woman, the Governor found with some satisfaction. Will Turner was too young yet to achieve such stature, and the good Commodore would never achieve it at all. He was too slender, almost delicate in built, much more a gentleman than a man of war, and hadn't he be the younger son, he would have made a good figure in St. James, or other courtly places.

The Royal Navy, Governor Swann reflected earnestly, attracted young men of all sorts, united in only one aspect – they were the more unlucky ones. The lower ranks were filled with fellows who would find no other living than by joining the King's armies, and as for the higher ones, they contained almost exclusively second- or third-born sons of British gentility. These young men, born into good society but without any prospect of maintaining themselves without profession, deemed the Governor to be undeservedly neglected by Providence. The oldest son was always the sole heir to the family's fortune, so was the tradition, and saved the many great estates from being torn in shares of inheritance. The youngest son could hope for a career as a clergyman, according to the same traditions, provided by his oldest brother with a suitable parish. Only those in the middle had little to bargain but their own health and ambition, forced to go to war or sail out into the world to earn some merits and hopefully money, driven out of their comfortable homes at the age of seventeen or eighteen. It was a pity, and being the Governor of a tropical merchant harbour, he had seen many, many unhappy boys serving their first of many seasons. The Commodore was one example, but in fact, almost every other officer shared his fate. Lieutenant Gillette for example – the younger son of a baronet. Lieutenant Crawford, his predecessor – the grandson of Lord Winworth. Even Admiral Thompson of Nassau Port shared his inferiors' sad stories, being the son of an impoverished gentleman.

Briefly, to be precise: before Captain Filister's arrival, Governor Swann had intended to assist his future son-in-law's career and buy him a commission to join the higher ranks of His Majesty's Navy, therefore promoting Elizabeth's sooner happiness. He wouldn't endure to see his dearest child fade away with time and weariness. But right now, he intended to wait some longer, until Commodore Norrington's return at least. As long as Captain Filister was around, he wouldn't give up hope that Elizabeth could fall for him, and until that, he'd do nothing that could increase her optimism.

Only one heart in the whole of Port Royal was somewhat disquieted with Captain Filister's stay. All the stories about him and his great deeds only aggravated young Will Turner's anxiety, who had once met him when the praised Captain had come to Mr Brown, Will's alleged master, to order a good sword.

The Captain had been very agreeable indeed; he was not at all stiff like Commodore Norrington, but easy-going and open, chatting animatedly about blades and techniques and commending Will for his excellent knowledge. But the kinder he had been, the more troubled Will had become – such a man constantly being around Elizabeth… He dreaded the implications. His beloved did enhance her professions of indifference, declaring what a lovely match the Captain would be for her friend Henrietta or any other girl. But Will was too self-conscious to deceive himself – all the objections that had kept her from attaching herself to Commodore Norrington were missing in his deputy, who possessed everything she could see in her fiancé, and lacked all his real or imagined faults.

And there was yet another thing adding to his dismay, though he scolded himself for thinking of it. As unaltered as she rightfully claimed her affection for himself, as suspicious had been her conduct nevertheless. Not only her temporary engagement to Commodore Norrington seemed to prove this, much worse for Will Turner's peace of mind was another episode. He had never found out enough about the events of the night on that nameless island together with Jack Sparrow to be perfectly satisfied. The prospect of certain death, a shocking amount of consumed Rum, the company of a true pirate, 'daft' to be sure, but also disturbingly charming… He was too tactful to implore further than she would tell him herself, but his nagging fears were fed by some random remark of Jack himself, on that most wonderful of all days. 'Elisabeth, darling – it would never have worked between us – I'm sorry' – what was _that_ supposed to mean?

He loved her nevertheless, this wasn't the problem. No matter what had happened in that night, it blurred nothing of her perfection in Will's eyes. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to know if something indeed had gone on between them, although he would have welcomed a sure proof that it had not. For if it had, it was another sign of Elizabeth being not quite as steady as he would have wished, facing the long-time engagement ahead of them, with himself at sea for the greatest part of the years possibly. She was willing to go any length to achieve what she wanted, he knew _that_, giving him hope – but had she shown the same determination to lure Jack into helping her? Jack, so much was certain, would never have said 'no', and who could blame him. He did not claim to be a gentleman, an honourable scoundrel maybe, but rejecting a lovely and desperate young girl? Their short stay in Tortuga had shown Will how popular Jack could be with the ladies – if this term was proper for the women inhabiting that wretched place, and together with Elizabeth's firm will to rescue Will no matter what it would take – better not think about it, he reminded himself time and time again.

Had Elizabeth been able to explore the bottom of her fiancé's heart – she would have been shocked indeed, but also capable to clear up all misunderstandings immediately. _Nothing_ had happened in that night, she'd rather have kissed the lovely Commodore than take into consideration to let herself be conquered by _Jack Sparrow_! In fact she found the mere idea so thoroughly absurd that it had never come to her mind to speak more of it than she already had. She was quite fond of Jack, to be sure, but in an odd way, she would compare him to her own father, rather than regarding him as a possible suitor. Not that he hadn't tried it, but even his peculiar compliments for herself had been nothing but an expression of his general style. Not unreasonably, she had compared him to her own father, though twenty years younger and as different on the first sight as any man could be – but on the second, she saw several similarities. Both men had a sense of decorum that was bordering on ridiculousness – where her father tried to appear the perfect gentleman, and often failed because he exaggerated so badly, Jack Sparrow did everything to give himself the air of outward eccentricity, which was just as fake as Governor Swann's over-great dignity. Her father reigned Port Royal and thought himself to be incredibly successful in doing so, ignorant of the fact that it wasn't his own skill, but Commodore Norrington's brave and clever policy that had advanced the town so well. Jack on the other hand deemed himself to be a hero of the seas, a true libertine, ignoring that it was sheer luck and numerous coincidences that had spared him the noose over and over again, for example Will's and her own interference the last time when he should have been hanged.

But what they most had in common was a tender fondness on Elizabeth's side despite all their faults and follies; it stood so sharp in relief against the other men she knew, dearest Will, the good Commodore, or presently, the most pleasant Captain Filister, who were all flawless and perfect in their own way. She couldn't but be endeared to those little imperfections that her father and Jack displayed so often, surrounded by men who were their superior, but utterly ignorant of this.

No, Will Turner had no reason to mistrust his worshipped Elizabeth, no reason at all. As extended as her regard for the new Captain surely was, as firm was her will to line him up with Henrietta, and she had no further interest in the man worth mentioning. So far, she hadn't yet succeeded; Henrietta was stubborn and the Captain still mourning for his own loss, but it could only be a matter of time to make these two kindred spirits realise that they were meant for each other.


	5. The Storm

* * *

**The Storm**

* * *

So far, the mission of the Dauntless hadn't been prized with success, although she had cruised half of the Caribbean Sea already, and defeated half a dozen of minor pirate vessels. But no matter what, there wasn't the smallest trace of the Black Pearl so far; twice, they had sailed to Tortuga, with the sole effect that only threats of the most severe punishment had been sufficient to keep the crew from frequenting one of the countless brothels.

James Norrington congratulated himself for his decision to leave Lieutenant Gillette back in Port Royal, as he could vividly imagine how this one would have lost no opportunity to rub it in that it was nobody's fault but the Commodore's that they had lost Jack Sparrow's trace so entirely. Gillette did not even do these things on purpose, he was much too cowardly for such daring – but there was an involuntary tactlessness about the man that had already cost many of the Commodore's otherwise iron nerves.

Another day had begun, with always the same merciless sun blazing down at them; they had been away from home for more than three months by now and every man aboard was more or less out of spirits. Some of the fresh recruits had mastered their seasickness by now, but this was like the only comfort in the middle of dead calms, boredom and sunburns. They were to sail through the Windward Passage, as soon as some strong breeze should take them, and search the Northern seas for the Black Pearl that seemed to have vanished into thin air. Lucky bastards, the First Lieutenant of the Dauntless thought to himself, and with some apprehension, he observed the horizons, once not to watch out for the wanted vessel, but because a storm seemed to come up. The behaviour of the sea birds was quite alarming, and although not the softest breath of wind was to be felt yet, he reported to the Commodore that he was afraid that they could come into bad weather.

"Oh well," was his superior's sour reply, "Didn't I hear the crew complain about the uneventful quietness?" He grabbed for the telescope, lowering it after a minute and murmuring, "Can we reach Port Antonio yet?"

"I don't think so, Sir," Lieutenant Chandler replied just as quietly, exchanging some significant looks with his friend. "We could get there by tomorrow, the soonest, and we would need a stronger wind for it as well!"

"Yes, I know," the Commodore sighed. "And a strong wind is what we'll get… Tell the crew to lie down as long as they can. There's nothing to be done right now, and I'm afraid they will need all their strength and alacrity later on!"

He went under deck to check the maps, with the earnest hope to spot some harbour and may it be yet so small or dangerous, that he and Chandler had forgotten, and that it would be near enough to be reached before sundown. This part of the Ocean was infamous for its unexpected and treacherous passages, and had an even worse reputation for the storms which kept haunting it. If they couldn't find an anchorage, it could become quite dangerous even for a ship of the dimensions of the Dauntless. Waves of sixty feet were no exception in such a storm, and many of the younger sailors hadn't experienced a really bad storm so far. The only island in some proximity was so small and meaningless that it hadn't even got a name; he was glad to spot it, and determined to aim for it as soon as the wind should allow a start. Even if they could not reach it, they might get at least so close that it bore some comfort for the crew, for despondency could come in nearly as fatal as even the worst weather. If they could think of themselves close to a possible rescue, they would give all they had.

Despondency – he had to smirk with himself for using this term. The past months had taught him about despondency, more than he could ever have thought possible while still alive and breathing. He didn't know himself what kept him upright, but apparently, a man could go with less sleep or food than was generally assumed, and bear even the hardest stroke of fate.

He scarcely dared to acknowledge it to himself, but he desperately missed Elizabeth, and he couldn't even say why. It wasn't the first time that he was absent from Port Royal for so long, he had born worse deprivations without so much as blinking. And right now, with all possible hope gone – shouldn't he be glad not to see her? He had foretold her that she could be relieved with his absence, but realised now that he had only meant himself, aware that Elizabeth probably did not even notice whether he was there or not. He had been so sure that a long journey would weaken her power over him, that he would be able to – perhaps not forget, but give her up at least.

For a man like him, this was an entirely new experience; he had survived hostile fire and heavy storms, he had always been strictly ruled by sense and denied emotions. He had thought it impossible that some feeling, although useless and vain, could be stronger than his common sense. He had lost Elizabeth, no, he had never even got her, she had never been his, her hand maybe, but never her heart. He _knew_ all that, but nevertheless, he was incapable to overcome this speechless agony, he hadn't even managed to rid himself of her portrait.

He had a small silver frame that bore her picture, and he wore it close to his heart day and night, he would take it out ever so often to have a look at it, and when he did, he had to see that it only exacerbated his suffering, but he couldn't help it either. He _had_ to look at her, at least six times per day, and every time, a blade cut right through him, invisible, but lethal still.

Waiting for the storm in his cabin, he held the medallion once again, his eyes glued to her beautiful features and without noticing it, he whispered her name to himself. He told himself that he needed some rest at least, even if he couldn't sleep. _If_ the storm should come, and as badly as feared, he would need all his resources. But it would not do, his mind found no peace and his body no sleep, and with growing tension, he knew the time to be ticking away in vain. Shortly before sundown, Chandler knocked on his door, and hastily, he patted Elisabeth's picture in one of his pockets and got up.

"Sir, I'm afraid it is about to begin."

And so it was, with astonishing speed, the sky had changed its colour, from glossy blue to steely grey, a very strong, but inconstant and ever-changing wind had come up, and the sails of the Dauntless were battling with it helplessly. He saw some boys of fourteen or perhaps sixteen years, their faces betrayed their terror and the worst hadn't yet begun – what would these terrified children do when they lost the first of their anchors?

Night fell fast this evening, and then, all of a sudden and apparently out of nowhere, it was there. The eye of the storm had taken hold of them so rapidly that even such experienced sailors like the Commodore and his First Lieutenant were taken by surprise. In the beginning, they had still tried to pilot westwards, praying to reach the little island, but now, all they could do was try to save their lives and this ship. The Commodore shouted orders on top of his voice, but the roaring winds swallowed most of it, half a dozen of his men had already been swept into the raging sea and nobody could have saved them – but suddenly, in the middle of the inferno itself, he saw the most amazing image and wondered for some seconds whether his eyes deceived him in his panic.

He saw two ships at portside! Was it possible?! He gestured at Chandler to make this one turn around, indeed, only a hundred yards away from them, there were three slightly smaller vessels, battling as hard with the storm as they did themselves. Evidently, this small fleet, Dutch merchants judging their colours and sails, must have aimed for the same rescue like the Dauntless!

He was still staring at this discovery when something happened that he had even less expected than the sight itself – he heard an explosion, and in the next second, he felt his own ship hit by a shot. For a second, he was petrified, his mind incapable of understanding what was happening there, when the most inconceivable realisation hit him. They were under attack! In the middle of one of the heaviest storms he had witnessed in his entire lifetime, they were _attacked_, by some crazy Dutch merchants?!

"Ready the canons and open fire," he screamed, "RETURN FIRE I SAY!"

The crew did their best to follow his orders and keep the ship under control in the same moment, but it was hopeless. Both ships had opened fire at them, joined by a third shooting from starboard, and in between all the havoc caused by the storm, the Dauntless was now also shaken by heavy impacts. They had damaged the first mast, that had crushed down causing devastation and leaving the Dauntless yet more helpless than it was anyway.

The last thing he perceived was another explosion aboard, and Chandler yelled, "They've hit the powder!"

What followed was of no more consequence for the Commodore, his ship was shred to pieces by a series of explosions, but he was already sinking to the bottom of the ocean, and when his lungs filled with salty water, he had one last thought in mind – at least, he wouldn't have to endure living without Elizabeth…


	6. The Ball

* * *

**The Ball**

* * *

According to the reports coming with the merchant vessels, it had been the worst storm in the past twenty years that had devastated great parts of the Western Caribbean. Giant floods had struck many coastal areas, the heavy rainfalls causing avalanches of mud crushing down on nether villages, and many small fishing boats hadn't returned from sea.

None of these afflictions had been felt in Port Royal, which was located further in the East, still the reports of it left no citizen unperturbed. They knew what it was like to be caught by a storm; it could happen anytime in this part of the world and caused almost more destruction than an average pirate attack. Lieutenant Gillette scratched his chin, his eyes on the map of the area that had been hit worst. It was roughly were the Dauntless was likely to cruise presently. A ship like the Dauntless had only few weak points; she wasn't very fast, admittedly, needing strong winds to advance, but otherwise, she was stable and solid. Her mere weight gave her stability even in heavy seas, and the Commodore was an experienced sailor, knowing both his ship and the ocean.

"Do you think something could have happened to them?" Governor Swann asked anxiously, for the fifth time at least, and Gillette shrugged once again.

"It's impossible to say that for sure, Sir. But it's not very _likely_; it takes a bit more than a storm to affect a ship like the Dauntless!"

"Are you sure?"

With some effort, Gillette managed not to roll his eyes. The Governor was an idiot, at least _that_ was sure, even his little daughter having more knowledge of naval affairs, and wasn't this saying something? He shrugged once more, heavily this time. "Nobody can say for sure, Sir. A storm is a storm, and there are many inexperienced sailors on the ship. You know, we received a whole load of new boys, fresh from Portsmouth. But the Commodore usually knows what he's doing, doesn't he?"

"Oh yes, of course," Governor Swann nodded eagerly, and Gillette wasn't able to suppress a sneer. Oh yes, the Commodore! The Governor thought the world of the Commodore, _everybody_ did, not only the inhabitants of the town made some sort of saint of him. No, so did the soldiers, having more respect for the Commodore than for Admiral Thompson even. It was getting on his nerves, really. For eighteen years, he was in the Royal Navy now, serving fifteen of them with James Norrington, which was more than bad luck – it was a true punishment. Gillette couldn't explain himself what he might have done to be inflicted with _James Norrington_ of all people; somehow, it didn't seem fair. Gillette was older than him, and judged by seniority, _he_ should be the superior. But he wasn't.

Whatever this man did turned out to be a success; Norrington had never lost a battle, and managed in only eight years what had been the undoing of all his predecessors – ridding this part of the Caribbean of piracy. Of course, there were still some of them out there, there would always be pirates as long as the world contained poor starvelings, rich ports and Spanish gold frigates. But they were no real threats any longer, and most of all, they didn't dare to come near Port Royal, due to the Commodore's fame. He was a living legend among the sailors, at the age of thirty-one, even the Spanish praised him. It was ridiculous, really!

Commodore James Norrington was only thirty-one, but he was a legend already. Relentlessly, this prodigal hero, about whom, Gillette didn't doubt it, sonnets would be composed before long, had seen to purge this part of the world of pirates, he had brought peace and posterity to Port Royal and the surrounding islands, and had consequently been made a Commodore at an age when other sailors hadn't yet become a plain Captain. His success stemmed from a variety of qualities like patience and valour, perseverance and tenacity, foresight, cleverness, discipline and self-control, and mostly, a capability that not even Gillette could deny, namely iron-clad nerves in the face of mortal danger. Which was, on the whole, really unnerving for everyone else who was forced to deal with Saint James.

Well, he had just made his first real mistake in all those years, and with relish, Gillette had sent his report to Admiral Thompson about the incident. Norrington had let this Sparrow bloke escape, _right_ before his eyes, before the eyes of the entire fleet in fact. His infatuation with the Governor's little daughter had stunned him, and Sparrow had vanished right from their midst. Two hundred armed soldiers, but no shot had been fired, no command been given – Norrington had messed it all up, and hopefully, _hopefully_ he would pay for it. Justice would be done at last.

_He_, Henry Gillette had been ready, he had even _asked_ the Commodore for an order, but in his inconceivable arrogance, Norrington had merely shrugged, and gone away then! And now, he was on sea for twelve weeks, hunting this pirate that he had been stupid enough to let go – suited him right, and with a bit of luck, he wouldn't find him in the next twelve weeks either. It'd be a _feast_ when the Admiral finally had to acknowledge that his darling Norrington had failed it all! And Gillette would be ready for _that_ moment, too!

Norrington's fame should be his, Lieutenant Gillette often thought, _he_ should have been promoted back then and not Norrington, and if he had been Captain, he would by now be the Head of this fort, he would have done anything just like Norrington, and have the byname 'scourge of piracy' and be the toast of all the ladies between San Antonio and Kingston. It was the grossest of injustice that Admiral Thompson had promoted the younger Norrington and not him, Henry Montgomery Gillette!

Basically, his whole life was a sequence of misfortunes, injustice and plain bad luck. He had two brothers and two sisters; Christopher, the eldest had inherited the title and fortune, William, the youngest had been sent to Oxford to become a clergyman, and all other money had been used to bribe some worthless simpletons into marrying his ugly, silly sisters. There had been only enough left to buy him, Henry, a commission and with that, he had been sent away. He felt nauseated when thinking of Christopher, enjoying all of London's amenities and comforts, while he himself was stuck on some godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere, and deprived of every comfort at all.

His Navy career was no great success either; he had started as a Lieutenant and never got any further, and he blamed only the Commodore for this. Not only that Norrington would never recommend him for a better position – they didn't like each other, and were both well aware of the other's dislike – he was also a pain in the back. Simply everything about Mr Perfect was downright annoying, Gillette wouldn't have known where to start if he had been asked about it. But of course, nobody ever asked – who else could find fault with the dear, dear Commodore?!

But this would come to an end at any rate, and then, _he_ would become Head of the fort, and a new wind would blow! He was roused from his gleeful musing by Governor Swann asking once more, "When do you think will the Commodore return?"

Gillette put up his best smile, hoping his vexation didn't show to clearly. "We will soon hear from them, I'm sure, Sir. Sparrow cannot hide forever, can he?"

"Hopefully so, Lieutenant Gillette! But I'm afraid he is a sly man!"

"So much worse that he was allowed to escape, Sir," Gillette said confidently, but this reply clearly dismayed the old Governor. He sighed and shook his head.

"Yes, yes. But Commodore Norrington will sort it out, I hope! He's a most excellent man!"

Excellent? Oh yes, of course. Governor Swann had thought of his hapless daughter who had enabled this flight in the first place – Gillette shouldn't have mentioned it. He didn't get along too well with Miss Swann, but since she had dumped the Commodore, he had grown a little fonder of the girl. Normally, he found her pretty much impossible – even his preposterous sisters possessed more dignity, like it was suitable for a decent English lady. They weren't half as handsome, or clever, admittedly, but what use was in beauty if it wasn't supported by distinct manners and elegance? However, she had broken the Commodore's heart, and Gillette liked her all the better for it. At least once, somebody was capable to see this man for what he really was!

She had slighted him for the sake of a young _blacksmith_ – Henry still had tears of laughter in his eyes when remembering that day. Once, only once, Norrington, the great, famous James Norrington had got what he deserved. There was a god, out there. And He had a great sense of humour. All his military successes, all his merits, this terrible air of sacredness hadn't tempted the fair lady's heart, and judging his state when Gillette had seen him for the last time, this had hit him worse than any pirate attack could ever have. Brilliant!

"Is there anything else, Sir?" he asked now, using his most flattering voice and praying that the Governor would leave. To talk to him was like talking to a child; unfortunately a rich, powerful child, but Gillette thought he had some skills of endearing himself to the rich and powerful ones.

"I can't think of anything right now, Lieutenant. Will we meet you on the ball tomorrow?"

"Certainly, Sir!"

"Marvellous! Will you bring your cousin, too?"

"Of course, Sir. He's looking forward to it, he told me!"

Oh yes, his cousin. Another of these famous sailors. _Captain_ Francis Filister, pride of Nassau Port. Francis had been made Captain two years ago for vanquishing the infamous Captain Black. Another of these ridiculous stories! But Henry liked him nevertheless, or even more so. His mother had married a rich commoner, alienating the rest of the family, and her son had inherited both her single-mindedness and her cheerful disposition.

He was a favourite with half of the town's ladies already, and it didn't take a prophet to know why Governor Swann made inquiries after him either. He clearly hoped his daughter to be among the girls fancying Francis; after failing to make her marry the Commodore, he would go for the second best thing. Poor man, seeing his only child throw herself away – Francis' mother had at least married _rich_. Commoners were easier to bear when they were rich, and with a smart spouse, they could even adopt some proper manners in time.

Well, Francis would take her sure enough, she was pretty, she would inherit a large fortune, her father was a gentleman. The perfect bride, so to say. But not even _his_ optimism truly believed that he could detach the girl from her petty fiancé, and by now, he neither was in need to do so. He was rich himself, and had likewise said, "Why should I chase a girl when I can have a dozen girls chasing _me_?"

"Sportsmanship?"

"I'm no sportsman, Henry. Your Norrington may be one, but not me!"

"Bloody Norrington!"

"Yes, bloody Norrington, but let me give you a piece of advice, mate – you shouldn't wear your dislike on your lapels. Makes you sound so pathetic, you know?"

To be reprimanded by a commoner's son about one's attitude wasn't pleasant, but Lieutenant Gillette didn't mind too much. Francis was just like that, and it had got him far, much further than Henry had come. Well, perhaps with his assistance, he could still make his way.

Talking of the devil – in this moment, Francis came in, neatly greeting the piffling Governor, and shooting his cousin a brief, but nonetheless broad, grin.

"Captain Filister! I was just talking to the good Lieutenant here about the storm – so what would _you_ say – could something have happened to the Dauntless?"

This time, Gillette couldn't keep his calm countenance, but that did no harm, as Governor Swann's gaze was focused on the Captain, who put up his very best smile. "I'm convinced that everything's excellent, Sir."

"Are you? That's a relief…"

Henry was sulking – _he_ had assured that ridiculous man five times that everything was going to be all right, without any effect. But as soon as Francis would open his mouth, the Governor was _relieved_, eh?!

"Absolutely, Governor Swann. Don't make yourself uneasy, I'm certain that the Dauntless is _exactly_ where it ought to be, and we'll soon hear of them."

Francis and the Governor shook hands, and this one left, reassuring one last time that they'd all come to the ball. Francis nodded, smiled, and confirmed, making the old gentleman beam.

"Brilliant! My daughter can hardly wait!"

And then he was gone, eventually, and Gillette let out a long, heartfelt sigh. "Honestly, there's one thing I do not envy bloody Norrington for – he's got to deal with this idiot all the time!"

"Well, cousin, you might want to get used to him. Once you are Head of this fort –"

"Ph! As if! Knowing my luck, the Admiral is going to pardon Norrington, and I'm left out in the cold once again!"

"I don't think so. Calm yourself, I –"

Gillette interrupted him impatiently, "You know the Admiral, yes! Didn't help me last time either, did it?"

"_Last_ time, Admiral Thompson still had his Golden Boy Norrington, Henry. But once the heroes go down…"

Gillette remembered once more the glorious day of Sparrow's escape and couldn't but giggle. Francis went over to the cabinet and fetched two glasses of Whiskey. "And we can celebrate tomorrow – haven't you heard? Little Miss Swann _can hardly wait_!"

This wasn't exactly true in fact. Miss Swann couldn't have cared less for a ball to which her fiancé hadn't been invited, and where she'd be urged to dance with dull gentlemen and inapt officers for a whole night. But Hen would come, too, and Elizabeth would be able to continue with her little plan to make her friend and the Captain madly in love with each other. No matter what the young lady always professed – Elizabeth knew for sure that Henrietta had as great a heart as every other woman. Maybe it took some more to captivate it, but she didn't doubt the Captain's skills to seize his opportunity!

She'd only have to prevent her father from interfering, otherwise _she_'d be stuck with Captain Filister the whole evening, which must not happen. Nothing must divert his focus from Miss Van Dyke, and there'd be enough girls that Elizabeth would be forced to take care of to keep _them_ away from him. She'd arrange lots of dances for all the little Miss Coxes, Elliots or Perkins, she was to make sure that they'd be busy entertaining one young officer or another as long as staying away from the Captain.

"Where's your dancing card, Hen?" she asked innocently.

"My dear Lizzy, don't get started with _that_ again!"

"I don't know what you are talking about, dear! I'm merely curious which of these fine gentlemen has ventured to dare asking you for a dance!"

Henrietta arched an eyebrow. "Ah, I see. Well, I can easily tell you. Lieutenant Gillette has, and so have Mr William Perkins, Mr Bradshaw, Sergeant Fisher, Mr Zinn and Mr Brooder. Are you content?"

"Captain Filister has not asked you to dance?" Elizabeth cried anxiously. "That's very bad of him! I shall immediately –"

"No, you shall not, Lizzy. For once because it isn't your place and then because he has indeed asked me already!"

"But why didn't you say that?"

"Because you are so keen to hear it anyway. Listen, I really wish you would stop this nonsense – it is quite embarrassing for me!"

Elizabeth had the grace to blush lightly, but this didn't keep her from turning her friend's words just as she pleased. 'Embarrassing' – in her notion, this could only mean that Henrietta in fact had some interest in the Captain that she didn't want to admit, and she prided herself for the delicacy not to press the matter any further. Nevertheless, with delight, she watched the two of them dance together, casting Henrietta enthusiastic and Captain Filister encouraging glances.

She danced with the man only once this evening – she had accepted even Mr Carmichael as a partner to avoid more than one dance with the Captain. Mr Carmichael was a bachelor of fifty-one years, plump and a horrid dancer, but the Captain should spend as much time as possible with Henrietta, and Elizabeth was willing to go any length to reach that purpose. Also, she didn't want to encourage her father's unreasonable hopes.

The Governor was grieved indeed with the evening's course and remarked quietly, "My dear child, why do you engage every dancer in the whole room but the Captain? I've seen him ask you at least four times!"

"But Father, don't blame me, please. It isn't my fault that the other gentlemen have asked me earlier on, and really, if _I_ wasn't dancing with poor Mr Carmichael, no other girl would and he'd be on his own for the entire ball. Besides, the Captain isn't a particularly fine dancer!"

"Neither is Mr Carmichael, dear."

"No, he's disgraceful, so my dancing with him can well be regarded as an act of charity!"

He couldn't help it and smiled. "Act of charity? Oh well, so all your dancing is as unselfish as can be, right?"

"Yes, surely!" She beamed merrily, completely missing the irony in her father's comment. "Since the Commodore is gone, _you_ are the only fine dancer in the whole of Port Royal, and since it'd be highly improper for me to dance with _you_, I have to content myself with young men stepping on my feet!"

"Lieutenant Gillette dances very well, too, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does, but a good partner doesn't only dance well but talks pleasantly, and as the Lieutenant is hardly a wit, I shall always dislike having him ask me!"

"You are too shrewd for me, my darling!"

She refrained from nodding knowingly and gave him another smile. "Oh no, Father, I simply lack your civility, so I can speak my mind freely!"

He let it pass and sighed. He had actually hoped that the absence of her fiancé would tempt Elizabeth to be a little more responsive to the Captain's charms, but he had to realise that it had effected the opposite. Perhaps, he contemplated, it would be more useful to obtain an invitation for young Mr Turner to the next ball, so she could see the difference between the somewhat clumsy and inexperienced boy and the other, exceedingly superior guests. True, Captain Filister was no born dancer – which was a pity, as Elizabeth was very fond of it – and he surely made not half as good a figure on the dance floor as the good Commodore. But he would cut out the young blacksmith nevertheless, who certainly had never attended a single ball in his whole life.

He knew that his daughter found him to be a snob, and she wasn't wrong in assuming so either. But what she fully failed to realise was that she was a snob herself in some ways – and at least, the Governor was _aware_ of his own stylish preferences in this respect. Elizabeth fancied balls and dancing, expensive dresses and gallant talking a good deal. She estimated education and good breeding in her company. Will Turner could offer her nothing of all this, and although she might find this romantic for a while, it was bound to tire her sooner or later. No, she had a quite distinct sense of class; that consciousness made her idolise the gap between herself and the young craftsman in the first place. What distinguished him most in her eyes was his being different from herself, which she found exotic and exciting – but when had happy conjugal life ever been solidly founded on such feeble effects? There would come the day when she was to despise her husband's simplicity, when she would be dissatisfied with her own superior sense opposing his naiveté. One could perhaps achieve a better place in life and be happy with it, but lowering oneself always inescapably led to dismay and regret.


	7. Rescued

* * *

**Rescued**

* * *

"Now this is interesting…"

Captain Jack Sparrow – he set great store by the correct use of his title – thought to himself, and like so often, he had uttered his thoughts loudly. Next to him, old Gibbs nodded and looked into the same direction like his Captain, spitting to the floor and muttering, "Shall we take a look at it?"

"Most certainly so, Mr. Gibbs," Jack replied in his usual manner. "Whoever is making such a lovely bonfire must be in want of some spectators!"

All they could see right now was some black smoke on the Eastern horizon, but obviously, there was a great fire causing it, and navigating towards its origin, they passed the remains of what must have been a large ship once. Planks and pieces of charred sails floated on the waves, and with some frowns, they passed them, trying to figure out what might have happened here. Two nights ago, there had been one of the most devastating storms in this area in a decade, but this did not explain why the fabric of the sails seemed to have been destroyed by fire, and with a long pole, Cotton fished out one of the rags.

"I've changed me mind, Mr. Gibbs! This isn't simply interesting, this is downright _odd_," Jack said, his lips pursed and his head tilting from one side to the other while examining the pieces of linen. Gibbs nodded once again, and Jack fumbled with his telescope until he had a clear view at the place where the fire seemed to come from.

"It's an island," he said matter-of-factly, "Somebody's having a barbecue!"

Anamaria cautioned him, but he shrugged off her objections. "My dearest Anamaria, I see no reason whatsoever to worry. We show up, have a steak or two, and perhaps some glass of Rum – can't let them celebrate all on their own, can we?"

Anamaria sighed gravely. She was used to Jack's spleens, but sometimes he was plainly getting on her nerves. She knew as well as him that it was no 'barbecue' they were sailing to, but she did not have a share of his unequalled confidence. What if it was a trap? And if it wasn't, but a signal for help – how should they help anyone? They hadn't harboured in two months, their provisions were running out. Wasn't it far more cruel to give the possibly ship-wrecked people on that godforsaken island some hope, just to let them down then?

But there was no arguing with Captain Jack Sparrow – note the title, please – because he simply pretended to be deaf, or twisted and turned all arguments against him so long until they were in his favour. In all those years that she knew him by now, she still hadn't decided whether he was a lunatic, a bastard, or simply the worst drunkard that she had ever come across.

"Oh! Oh!" he cried, clearly enraptured with what he saw through the telescope. "It's my old friends!"

"East India Trading Company?" Anmaria suggested dryly. "But then, it'd be more of a tea party than a barbecue, right?"

"Nope, luv, very wrong indeed. It's the Blue Coats! Four or five of them, I can't say for sure –"

"Clean the lenses then or get sober, for heaven's sake!"

"It's a very impertinent thing to say to your captain, luv!"

She groaned and tried to point out to him at least one of the fifty reasons why it was everything but smart to sail towards a bunch of British officers, after they had escaped them so ingeniously for some months now, but Jack thought rather the opposite. Of course.

"I'd reckon it a marvellous thing to do, dear Anamaria – fancy the stupid looks on their faces when we pass them with a cheerful 'Ahoy there'!"

She manoeuvred the Pearl as close to the shore as she could; she needed no telescope to see the excited waves of the people on the beach – _four_ people, although only two were waving, and she felt some pity with the poor guys. They _did_ think their saviour was coming across them, only to disappoint them and leave them to die.

"Is't possible," Jack gnarled with a tinge of surprise in his voice, "I _know_ these fine men!"

"Come off it, Jack, even _I_ can see that they're Navy officers. Don't puff yourself up like that!"

"You mistake me, luv!" He sniggered brightly. "I don't mean to say I know their uniforms, every idiot knows their uniforms, Mr Cotton's parrot would recognise their uniforms, if I come to think about it – but I know the fellows themselves! Personally! The right one there, what's his name – Chandelier or something. He is the Second Lieutenant of the Dauntless!"

The mere mentioning of the name caused Anamaria to shudder. The Dauntless! Oh _great_! So it _was_ a trap, and somewhere, possibly directly around the bend of the shore, she was waiting to sink them!

"Let's turn around, Jack! It's not too late!"

"Hoh hoh, darling. Not so fast. I wonder what my ol' hearties are doing on this lovely day! Look at them, how they're happy to see me!"

She snatched the telescope from him to have a look herself. Yes, it were four British Navy sailors – silly lot, despite the dazzling heat, they were still wearing their pernicious coats! And for _them_, it must be even hotter, as they seemed to have set half of the island on fire. What would explain the charred sails. Or not.

Two of the men were lying flatly on the beach, she noticed now, _not_ wearing their jackets but having them spread over them. Dead bodies? To keep away the flies? She had heard stories – oh boy, not even members of the Royal Navy appeared to be entirely safe from condescending themselves so far as to eat their own dead mates in times of dire need!

Jack insisted on taking one of the boats and row over, no pleads and no menace could object him from this plan. Gibbs, Carlyle and Rodrigo would go with him, although their faces showed quite clearly that they would have preferred to just sail away again, but what could one do when Jack Sparrow had set his mind on something?

Yes, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow – he hated it that even his crew sometimes forgot the proper use of his title – wasn't simply will-strong, he was downright reckless. But his experience seemed to confirm his suspect that one could only win when daring something, and although he couldn't have explained it himself, he sensed that it would be worth to inspect the lot over there. The two officers who were still able to stand up-right ran into the water, boots and all, to welcome them, and to Jack's greatest delight, he saw ol' Chandelier stop dead for a second when recognising him.

"Good morning me ol' fellows – what got ya blazing so early? Lieutenant Chandelier! What a pleasure to see ya again!"

"Captain – Sparrow?!" This wasn't Chandelier, but a lesser rank whose name he had forgotten, but whose somewhat sheepish face seemed very familiar.

"Yes, it's me!" Jack cried happily, "But I'm afraid I can't remember your name, good sir!"

"Murtogg," the man replied, dumbfounded still, and received an elbow from his boss.

"Captain Sparrow – we are – glad to see you, too –" It was obvious how hard it was for the poor, certainly exceedingly decent officer to talk to Jack Sparrow – _Captain_ Jack Sparrow! – like that. As it turned out, and Jack wouldn't have believed it, hadn't their grave faces confirmed it to be true, the Dauntless hadn't only got herself into that terrible storm the other night, no! They had also been attacked, which was as weird as Jack had ever heard a story. _He_ might be daft, but one had to be really, _really_ deranged to dare attacking a ship like the Dauntless, and in the middle of a storm, too! And while still listening to the desperate sailors, he took a closer look at their injured mates.

Chandelier pointed at them. "Our Commodore is very badly wounded. We fear for his life –"

"Fear for _his_ life?! What about your own lives, mates? Is it – no, it's truly – my old friend Commodore Norrington?! Mary mother of Jesus!" He was genuinely perplexed. To be honest – he had hoped to see the Commodore never again in his life, for he would have expected to see him through a telescope, on deck of the Dauntless and ready to fire at himself, dear Captain Jack Sparrow. But under these circumstances, he couldn't deny a certain satisfaction, delight even, and it was no malice concerning the obvious bad state of the otherwise so funny Commodore. He fought with himself for some minutes, before exclaiming as if it was the most natural thing in the world, "Rodrigo, Carlyle – help the gentlemen aboard with their casualties. Hush hush!"

Anamaria would kill him, no doubt. But Jack Sparrow wasn't mad, in this moment, he was quite the opposite. He did have some sense of honour in his bones, and he knew very well that the Commodore had treated him with fairness when they had met before. To leave him, and the others, two of them being these hilarious spinners that he had once talked to in Port Royal, wouldn't be right. And the squirming Lieutenant Chandelier could well turn out to be some fun – he was torn between his duties and the love for his own life, between loathing for the pirates in front of him and the worry for his boss' well-being. In Jack's eyes, this was all he needed to know about a man. Did his inferiors truly care about him? Then he was worth a toast. If they didn't – send him down to old Hob.

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" Anamaria welcomed them back on the Pearl, and like always, Jack noticed how pretty _his_ First Lieutenant could get when she was extremely angry.

"I thought you knew the answer to that question, luv! May I introduce you to these fine gentlemen? This here is Officer Murtogg. The good man that he's just heaving aboard is his friend Mr Mullroy – passed out, poor bloke. This here is Lieutenant Chandelier –"

"Chandler. My name is Chandler," the officer interrupted him, carefully trying to cause no further damage with the Commodore that he and Rodrigo now carried on deck.

"Excuse me, dear sir, Lieutenant Chandler, of course. And the gentleman he's lifting up – you might have guessed it by the pretty stripes on his jacket, darling – is good old Commodore Norrington. I assure you, you will find nowhere so fine officers as these four." He tried to make his voice sound more serious, for he thoroughly meant what he was saying there. "Not in the world, you shall find some nicer fellows than Mr Murtogg and Mr Mullroy, good Lieutenant Chande- sorry, Chandler there might appear a bit impenitent on the first try, but he improves, trust me, and as for the Commodore – I don't need to say much about the Commodore, do I?"

"_This_ is Commodore Norrington?!" Suspiciously, Anamaria stepped a little closer, and seeing the bandage around his head, saturated by blood, she quickly kneeled down and checked his pulse.

"Bloody hell! Bring him down under deck, and make haste!" she snapped and jumped up again. "Cotton! I need water, clean bandages, and whatever liquor you can find. Oh, and some of you guys – club together and provide the newcomers with some food for a start!"

"Heart of gold!" Jack smiled behind her back at Chandler. "She pretends to be all tough and careless, but she's a saint, you know –"

Lieutenant Chandler's expression said clearly that he hoped so and followed the others who were carrying the two lifeless bodies. He had wished for a fast rescue, for the Commodore's sake, but he was still insecure whether this particular one wouldn't turn out to be disastrous. He himself had found him, floating without any sign of life in the middle of the ocean. An albatross had circled in the sky above them like a vulture waiting for prey. Chandler had meant him to be dead, but thought it to be his duty to bestow him with a real grave instead of leaving him behind for the sharks to feed. He had swum all night, until the morning sun revealed the most wonderful sight in a situation like his – the little island they had prayed for, and with his last capacities, he had dragged the two of them on shore. He had gotten help by Sergeant Murtogg, who had saved himself and his friend on a plank. A short exploring tour of the island had proven that no help was to be expected here, they had wrapped up the two injured, fed on some coconuts and prayed. During the night, they had come to the conclusion that they would make the fire, and as they had got no additional assistance, they had known that they would have to set the palms on fire, which would mean that they'd either be found within the next two days or would starve to death, robbing themselves of the only food.

How he had survived this inferno was still beyond his understanding. The Dauntless' large powder stores had caught fire, and the whole, formerly so majestic ship had blown up with everybody on her, in the middle of the tossing ocean. It was a miracle, and that he should have found the Commodore, who had been like a brother to him for many years now, had crowned this most astonishing rescue. But it stood bad about him. The woman who took care of him shook her head in helplessness after freshening up his bandages.

"He's got the fever, and I can't say what it is about his injuries," she said lowly, and to Chandler's greatest amazement, Jack Sparrow looked just as worried as he felt himself.

His old cockiness had vanished, and he murmured, "If the gods are with us, it'll take us ten days to reach Port Royal – can he make it so long?"

She looked alarmed. "Jack, we _can't_ sail to Port Royal!"

"Yes, we can, Anamaria, and we must. I owe this man something."

"He might survive the journey or not, I can't say. But honestly, Jack, think of it! If we sail into that Port, it will be the last thing we'll ever do in our lives!"

"If I may say something," Chandler interrupted somewhat timidly, "I am – I _was_ – the First Lieutenant of the Dauntless, and with Commodore Norrington unconscious, I represent him now. I can grant you safe-conduct! Take my Commander back to Port Royal, and you shall not regret it!"

The woman, Anamaria, looked as if she thought him to be as mad as her own Captain, but that one nodded. "I thank you for this, buddy. Don't worry for _that_, we will take good old Norrington home. Better pray that he makes it until there."

Gibbs nodded as well, even more gravely. "Good man, the Commodore. Stiff as a poker, but good."

"Yes, he is. I've served under him for ten years" Chandler confirmed, a lump in his throat.

A spark of the old craze returned to Jack Sparrow's eyes. "Besides – we can't disappoint his bonny, can we? Little Miss Swann is too young and to good-looking to fade away as a sailor's widow!"

Chandler was perplexed. "But – Miss Swann hasn't married the Commodore, Captain Sparrow, and I don't think she will. Oh, I forget, you don't know that. She – she's run off with this young blacksmith!"

"Now did she, after all…" Jack Sparrow raised his eyebrows. "Silly girl! I would have thought her to be a bit more – what do you mean, she run off with the blacksmith?!" He shook his head, "Will Turner it is then? Hell, I thought she was saving herself up for this fellow there! She could have had _me_, and she picked the whelp – what say you to that!"


	8. Coming Home

* * *

**Coming Home**

* * *

It was a pleasant evening so far, and Elizabeth prided herself on her plan concerning her friend Henrietta and Captain Filister. These two were standing on the balcony chatting after dinner, while she herself was a little preoccupied with her dear father.

"My dear," he said softly and looked over his shoulder as if to make sure that nobody heard them. "You are the mistress of this house! You can't leave all the work to Miss Van Dyke entertaining our guests!"

"That's an old trick, Father." She smiled, but seeing his urgent expression, she sighed and shrugged. "As you please then, as you please!"

She went out to meet them on the balcony, anxious that she could interrupt delicate matters, but as it were, she burst in nothing more than a discussion of seabirds.

"Nonsense," Henrietta cried and laughed heartily. "You cannot tame them!"

"I assure you, you can! I've seen a great many tame pelicans, albatrosses or seagulls!"

"I am ready to believe at once that every now and then, a lame seagull falls on your deck, Sir. Having nothing better to do, you feed it up until it is healthy again, it flies away, and when the next one appears, you think it was your old friend coming back to you!"

"But no! I have to protest, Miss Van Dyke, you do us no justice!" the Captain replied in the same, cheerful manner. "We have an albatross as a mascot on board of the Fortuna, and please believe me, it's always the same bird coming back to us!"

"Because it obeys to you when calling it by its name, I suppose?"

"It has a name indeed! It's called Hermes!" He grinned at the two ladies, and raised an eyebrow, "Every sailor spins his yarn, I know the old saying, but I must beg you to believe me!"

"Oh, don't worry," Elizabeth said sweetly. "We shall believe every word that you say! Miss Van Dyke likes a good banter, that is all!"

Miss Van Dyke seemed disinclined to be labelled like that, but she had no more occasions to oppose. Down in the harbour, quite a turmoil had broken loose, and vaguely, they could spot a rudder boat being tied to the pier, and a dozen of people, civilians just like officers, surrounding the place.

"What the –"

Captain Filister stared intensely for some seconds, before turning on his heels and muttering a short excuse. He ordered the other officers present to follow him, and looking puzzled, Governor Swann inquired as to the reason for such hasty departure. His daughter signalled him that she had no idea, and the whole party went back to the balcony to see what was going on down there. They saw the officers sprinting down the narrow, winding road – after all, Captain Filister was responsible for this town and its affairs until Commodore Norrington's return, and only a few minutes later, they had reached the origin of the disturbance.

Everywhere were people now, some of them carrying lamps or torches, and in the feeble light, Elizabeth could distinguish a man being lifted from out of the boat. The distance was too great to have a better look, and she would already have gone back to the parlour, shrugging with the idea that one of the guards had fallen into the harbour basin, if there hadn't been something very peculiar about the whole scenery. Every now and then, one of the guards fell asleep on duty, and not seldom, they would plunge into the water then. This wasn't extraordinary, and wouldn't have caused twenty officers to swarm about like anxious bees. The next thing she perceived was that a carriage was rattling up the road to their own house, which lay rather high above the town itself. What was going on there?

She and her father hurried downstairs, just in time for the carriage to arrive, and the first one to jump out of it was Lieutenant Gillette with a shocked expression. "Governor," he croaked, "can we care for an injured in your house – our own premises don't – well –"

Another man pushed him out of the way, and to her utmost stupefaction, Elizabeth recognised Lieutenant Chandler, who had sailed away on the Dauntless. The Lieutenant had already looked better, cleaner foremost, but nevertheless, he could summon his wits much better than the confused Gillette and exclaimed, "Sir! I pray you to show us where we can bring Commodore Norrington. He's been heavily injured, and I fear for his life. Please Sir, do help us now, we heard that Doctor Jennings is in your house already!"

Elizabeth gaped at him, speechless, while her father cried, "Of course, yes – but – where is the Dauntless – how…"

"The Dauntless lies at the bottom of the ocean, Sir, or what's left of her anyway. Gillette, help me!"

Poor Gillette didn't seem to know what to do but obey his comrade helplessly, so together they carried somebody out of the carriage that Elizabeth wouldn't have recognised at once to be the Commodore. She gave a shrill scream, clasping her mouth and goggling at him; he was dead pale, half of his face covered with bandages, and his usually so stiff pose vanquished, with his limbs dangling beside him lifelessly.

"Good Lord," Elizabeth whispered in horror, "God, James! _James_!"

The men carried him into the house, and the dazed Governor uttered useless directions; waking herself from her shock, Elizabeth followed them and cried decidedly, "Take him upstairs – the first door on the left side!"

She rushed after them and so did her stammering father, "But Elizabeth – this is your own room – why not one of the guest chambers – Commodore – Jesus –"

"_I_ can sleep wherever, Father, and my room is the best," she hissed, angry that this seemed to be his only concern, and sick with fear when the two officers lowered the Commodore on the bed. What was visible of his face was just as white as the bed linen and she thought he was dead. It took her breath to see him like this, she clang to Henrietta's arm, who had asked if she could be of any help, and battled hard with her up-rising tears. Henrietta appeared to be just as shocked, but yet more collected than Elizabeth. "Lizzy! Pull yourself together! You don't help him by breaking down as well!"

Dr. Jennings came running and sent everybody out of the room to examine the patient; Elizabeth had refused to go at first, but the joint powers of her father, Henrietta and Lieutenant Chandler had prevailed in the end. She paced the hallway in front of her room, and quietly, Chandler tried to summarise the events so far.

She couldn't grasp it – the Dauntless! The epitome of power and invincibility! Slain by a storm and heavy impact! How _anybody_ had survived such catastrophe! When Chandler came to the next part of his report, her jaw dropped even further – Jack?! Jack _Sparrow_?! Taking the ship-wrecked remains of the crew to Port Royal?!

"Where is he? Where is Jack?!"

"He's gone, Miss Swann," he said coolly, "I granted him safe-conduct, but he would rather not try his luck. You know that promises can be treacherous –"

"But – but –" She felt dizzy and leaned against the wall, taking deep breath and muttering helplessly, "And in all these days, he hasn't woken up once? Not once?"

It was more an entreaty than an actual question, but Lieutenant Chandler only shook his head without looking at her. Henrietta patted her arm, murmuring, "He will make it through, you'll see! He is strong!"

Chandler shot her a glance that was hard to decipher, shaking his head to himself, but Elizabeth had seen it very well and cried, "What is it, Lieutenant? What were you about to say?"

"Nothing, Miss."

"No, you _were_ about to speak! I've _seen _you!"

"Elizabeth, darling," her father said with a faltering voice, "You must calm down –"

"I won't calm down! Will you tell me now, or do I have to start screaming, for I swear you, I will!" She glared at Chandler, who returned the look just as hostile.

"Very well, Miss, very well!" he snarled, piercing her with his eyes. "You're used to always get whatever you want, so who am I to disappoint Miss Swann's demands? As for your dear friend here stating how 'strong' the Commodore was – what makes you think so, Miss Van Dyke? Have you talked to him lately? Have you seen him?"

His voice became louder and steadier with every word, but he did not turn his look away from Elizabeth, even though he was addressing Miss Van Dyke. Pure rage was sparkling in his pupils when he spat, "It is so easy to claim how 'strong' somebody is – must be very reassuring when you've stabbed a dagger into their hearts! Spares the remorse, doesn't it? You wail how thin and worn-out the Commodore looks? Now let me tell you that he's looked _exactly_ like that before the Dauntless' destruction yet!"

"Lieutenant!" Governor Swann and Lieutenant Gillette cried in the same moment, but Elizabeth lifted her hand and groaned, "No! No – let him – he – leave him alone, will you… I – he's right! He is right –"

Nausea engulfed her, and she supported herself on her father's and Henrietta's arm. It was the truth that hurt her so badly, but she wouldn't blame the Lieutenant for having spoken it. She had behaved abominably against the Commodore, and even if nobody else would reproach her, her own conscience wouldn't rest. It had never properly rested since the day when the Dauntless had left Port Royal, and the continued absence of her former fiancé had not vanquished her regrets. A part of her _knew_ that most of his miserable appearance was owed to his injuries, but that didn't lessen her self-accusations one bit. In this moment there, she felt responsible for everything, not only his pallor and loss of weight, but all his injuries, the destruction of the Dauntless, why, the storm itself, really, and to be compelled waiting there, with nothing to do to make up, or at least distract herself, made things only worse.

Some minutes later, Dr. Jennings opened the door to the patient's room and came out. His face was deeply troubled. "Whoever has taken care of him, they must have saved his life. For all I can say, his head is heavily injured, but the wound has been treated with great skill so it would not inflame at least. As long as he is unconscious, I cannot say how bad the extend of the injury truly is, but presently, I'm far more concerned with a case of pneumonia and the resulting fever. You could boil an egg on his forehead! He needs cold compresses, constantly – I will return directly after dawn. Pray for him, if you want to help him!"

Elizabeth insisted to stay at the Commodore's side, and nobody would have been able to chase her away, not her father, not Henrietta, and neither Lieutenant Chandler's reproachful glares. Every fifteen minutes, she renewed the compresses around James' calves, his forehead and the one on his chest; she prayed to the Lord above to have mercy with him. And for the first time in her life, she really looked into the face of the man that would have been her husband by now, if she only had wanted him. She smirked with the realisation that she had never seen his own hair in the last how-many years, and was surprised how much younger he looked so suddenly.

For a man who had spent half of his life on sea, it was peculiar how soft and bright his skin was, and his unconsciousness revealed the true gentleness of his features. The way he was looking now, one could hardly imagine him being the most powerful man in this part of the world, or that he had the byname 'scourge of piracy'. There was nothing fierce in that face, no severity, not a hint of the famous, mighty Commodore. She vaguely thought that, could any of those notorious scoundrels see him _now_, they'd wonder why his mere reputation had ever kept them away from Port Royal in those last years.

"Oh James," she moaned quietly, gazing down at him and longing to be capable of making him wake up, or at least, make him regain some of his familiar air. That man lying on her bed there wasn't Commodore Norrington, it was simply James, not a sailor but a man on the verge of death, and she could not bear it.

She knelt down in front of the cross on the wall, folded her hands and prayed aloud, "Dear Lord, show your magnificence tonight! Don't take him from us! I am a sinner and have no right to demand anything from you, but I beg you, let him live! He is a _good_ man, as you surely know, he deserves your mercy. Oh Lord, he deserves everything at all, _please_, do it for him if you don't want to do it for me. Grant him some more years on earth, to be an example for us others. I won't ask anything for myself ever again, but please, you must grant me – him – this!"

She felt no tiredness, only unspeakable fear, and wouldn't have noticed the dawning sun, hadn't it been for Doctor Jennings' return, just as he had promised. She still wouldn't part from the Commodore's side, even less when the doctor announced that there hadn't been any remarkable improvement of his state. The fever was most likely a result of the pneumonia, from the saltwater that had intruded his lungs, and the aged physician wouldn't make a guess how the chances of the patient might be.

"But it hasn't become worse either, has it," she murmured tonelessly.

"No, but to tell you the truth, Miss Swann – it couldn't be much worse, I'm afraid! It's a miracle he's survived the journey even."

It was all her fault, she knew it, utterly mad with herself. The Lieutenant had been so right to accuse her, to tell her what no one else would have dared to speak to her face. For _everything_, she was to blame! Hadn't she broken his heart that day, he wouldn't have been so stupefied as to let Jack escape. No, she felt no remorse for wanting to save Jack, but there would have been other ways. And if Jack hadn't fled from Port Royal, James Norrington would never have been forced to leave to capture him again, ergo he wouldn't have gotten into that storm, would never have met those attackers… In short: if Elizabeth hadn't treated him so nefariously, he would have been the same still! Safe and sound and healthy!

At breakfast time, Henrietta came back, to look for her friend and inquire after the patient, and as Elizabeth still refused to leave the sickroom and continued to change the compresses, Henrietta sat down beside her. She listened to her friend's self-accuses, but shook her head eventually. "Lizzy, you must stop that. You've done what was right by you. No one can ask any more of you!"

"But it was all my doing, Hen, it was nobody but me! My selfishness, my self-will – when he dies, it will forever be nobody's fault but mine!"

"And what about these pirates attacking them? You're self-complacent, even in your grief, Lizzy. Look at it – you couldn't marry them both, can you?"

"You've scorned me, Hen, and I tried to ignore the utter truth in your mocking. I never admitted it out loud, but I do know that I had no right to tell him I would marry him, just to reach my aims. He would have helped me anyway, I know it! The Lieutenant was right this night – I've lied to myself, to make it easier for me, and I forgot about everybody else!"

"You're hysteric, dear. Why don't you go down and eat something, or better, lie down for an hour or two?"

Elizabeth shook her head vigorously. "No, I'll stay right here. I will not move out of this room and if it takes a whole month until he opens his eyes! Someone has to take care of the compresses –"

"I can do that, Lizzy. Come on, you know I can. I've nursed my mother when _she_ had pneumonia three years ago, and look at her now!"

"But he doesn't matter to you, Hen," she croaked, suppressing tears now. "Nobody has ever cared for him the way he'd deserve, and I – I –"

Henrietta embraced her tentatively. "My dear Lizzy, calm yourself. No, he doesn't matter to me in the way that your beloved Will Turner matters to you, no one ever mattered to me like that. But if it comforts you – I wouldn't refuse a proposal of marriage from him – is that enough to render me a careful enough nurse, even for your standards?"

Elizabeth managed a smile, and received a serious, benevolent glance in return. "Go now, my dear, take a nap. I promise I shall wake you up in case he opens his eyes, and I will be most conscientiously changing the compresses each and every quarter. You can rely on me."

Reluctantly, but knowing that Henrietta was right, Elizabeth left the room with a last inquiring glance at the lifeless Commodore. Her father was waiting outside; it appeared that he had been too afraid to come in, and she couldn't say for whom he was more concerned – her or James. She managed to calm him in both cases, and as she wasn't tired, she resolved to drink a cup of coffee and take a walk in the garden before she would return to the sickbed. She was stirred up from her silent reverie when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"I had to come and see how you are, Elizabeth!"

She turned around, and let herself fall into the arms of her fiancé. She did no longer try to fight the tears, it was as if a dam inside her had burst. Will held her tight, whispered words of comfort and love into her ears, stroked her back and did just everything that he could think of to alleviate her sorrows. Elizabeth calmed only slowly, incoherently telling him about the last night's events; he had heard enough down in the town to bring light into her story, and said after all, "Oh my sweet Elizabeth! So compassionate, so self-sacrificing!"

But she couldn't handle such confirmations of love now, let alone unjustified praise, and said impatiently, "And still it just won't do, Will! I've left Henrietta to look after him, but I have to get back –"

He smiled affectionately. "Yes, I wonder that you dared to go so far. Can Miss Van Dyke fulfil such duties?"

Elizabeth chuckled dryly. "Oh yes, she assured me how careful she'd be, and that _she _would wed him even!"

"What a lovely idea, isn't it? Like that, he'd be provided with a gracious, pretty woman and you wouldn't have to aggravate yourself any longer!" He laughed heartily, but Elizabeth couldn't find this remark any funny at all.

"Oh no, absolutely not," she replied sharply, "Firstly, it wouldn't excuse my awful behaviour against him, and secondly – Henrietta would never become a sailor's wife. Thirdly, I've never heard of a match more unsuitable; just imagine! Henrietta and James! _Impossible_!"

He chuckled with her fervour; finding that Elizabeth must know her friend better. It had only struck him like a good idea for a second, but more to distract her than for being serious. Well, judging her vexed expression, he had at least managed to distract her for a moment by irritating her.


	9. The Dark of Night

* * *

**The Dark of Night**

* * *

She positively hated the idea. Henrietta, marry Commodore Norrington?! Preposterous! She was halfway in love with Captain Filister! After all the time and effort Elizabeth had invested into forming this romance, she would not give up on it because of some random remark!

But if it was only a random remark, why even care about it? Perhaps there was more truth to it? Hadn't Henrietta given her an arch look when saying it? Perhaps it had been nothing but a joke? But how inappropriate was it to make _jokes_ in a situation as dire as this!

She would have fretted with the idea for the rest of the day, but her duties as a nurse would distract her well enough. She had to call for fresh ice water almost every half an hour, as the heat outside invaded the house, too, and would warm the water for the compresses until they were of no use. She had closed the curtains to spare her patient from the sun, and when she wasn't changing the cloths, she was waving her fan to bring him some fresh air. Scott had brought her a more comfortable armchair and some books, but she had sent him away again with these, she couldn't concentrate on anything. Instead, she talked to James, informed him about everything he had missed during his absence; the friendly Captain, two balls in the Crown, Reverend Martin had become grandfather for the first time, and mother and child were equally well…

A small town like Port Royal hadn't many issues to offer, and in the evening, she began to talk to him about her schemes concerning the Captain and her friend Henrietta – could he have heard her, she would have blushed and run out of the room. So far, she hadn't acknowledged her plotting to anyone, not even Will, for she was quite embarrassed about it. Another night came, the old doctor paid several visits in between, and by ten o'clock, Estella came in to offer taking over from Elizabeth. She hadn't slept a minute all day, so she agreed after all, but instead of leaving, she made herself comfortable in the armchair next to the bed.

When she woke up in the morning, his state was unaltered, and she cursed under her breath. She sent Estella to fetch her some coffee and toast and lie down herself then, and continued her attentions like she had done the day before. She would make him wake up, she _would_ – Elizabeth Swann wasn't accustomed yielding to anything that her will couldn't conquer, and she was very determined not to start giving up now!

At the same time, and rather coincidentally, Henrietta Van Dyke met Lieutenant Chandler on the sweeps of the Governor's house. He had just paid a visit to inquire after the Commodore, and she was on her way to look after Elizabeth. He apologised to her for his harsh words the other night, and she laughed, "Oh no, Sir! No ill will on my side for that! I could well understand how worried you were, and I know my comment was out of place. I merely thought of Elizabeth – believe it or not, but she is very concerned for the Commodore's well-being!"

"A little late, it would seem, though," he gnarled, but she let it pass. She could easily imagine how worried the young officer was; the Commodore wasn't only his superior, but his friend, and it was only natural that Lieutenant Chandler should be solicitous of his friend's affairs.

In a very different tone, he asked her whether she was in the mood for taking a walk through the lovely gardens, and gladly, she took his offered arm. He had something on his chest, she could well see, and was quite curious to hear what it was.

"You see, Miss," he began after a while, looking for the right words, "I do believe that Miss Swann is worried for the Commodore's sake – who wouldn't be? But I wonder – I have my doubts – look, hopefully, he is to recover soon, and when he opens his eyes, what will he see then? The face of Miss Swann, the face that he could not forget three months on sea – it will be directly before him! He will hear that she has sat up with him day and night, and… Don't you think all of this will endear her even more to him? She is engaged to another man, nothing has changed in this respect. But neither…"

He swallowed hard, and she helped him out, "I suppose the Commodore's feelings for her have not changed either?"

"Yes," he said, half relieved, half anxious to be betraying his friend's sentiments, and to his former fiancée's best friend, too. He lowered his gaze bashfully and proceeded, "I'm afraid that the present arrangements will only inflict more pain on him, and I've wondered – don't you think it would be good to bring him somewhere else, as soon as his state allows transport?"

"But where should that be, Lieutenant Chandler? I've understood that the quarters don't seem fit to treat him!"

"If I had an answer to that question, Miss, I would already have talked to the Governor about it!"

She was silent and they went on, soon talking about other things, the shocking loss of the Dauntless for example. But while chatting so eagerly, a plan was forming in Miss Van Dyke's bright head, and after another round, she asked the Lieutenant to excuse her. She had to speak to her father.

The young man was otherwise engaged, too, so they made their way down to the town together. He mentioned the purpose of his dealings to Miss Van Dyke, assuming that, being Miss Swann's friend, she knew about it already, but she did not. In sheer amazement, she cried out, "Will Turner wants to sign up for the Navy? What makes him think of that?"

"Well, if he wants to marry Miss Swann, he needs to earn some money first, right?"

She hesitated, still perplexed with the idea. "But he is a blacksmith, and as far as I can see, a very good one! Has he talked to Elizabeth about this?"

"If _you_ don't know, Miss, how am _I_ supposed to know then?"

"I don't think it will please her at all," the young woman murmured with a strange sense of premonition. It just struck her as a very unfortunate case of bad timing on the young blacksmith's part to be joining the Navy, while the Head of the fort hadn't yet recovered from the injuries he had sustained in service, being one of only four survivors on total. Knowing Elizabeth…

Yes, Will Turner wanted to join His Majesty's Navy. He had long thought about it, he would also have talked to his beloved Elizabeth, if this one hadn't been so upset the day before. He hadn't found the opportunity, but unlike her friend Henrietta, he had no doubt that she'd approve of it with all her heart. He'd sign up today, and their future together would have drawn a little nearer.

The return of the Commodore and the remains of his crew had created some difficulties among the officers. The problem was that – until Commodore Norrington's factual return, Captain Filister had been his official deputy, and Lieutenant Gillette the second-in-command. In a case of illness or other incapability of doing service, Lieutenant Chandler was to represent the Commodore. Nobody within the fort was absolutely sure what precedence was now in place, with the highest rank incapacitated, the second highest at least in theory relieved, and the two next ranks equal in factual rank, but disliking each other strongly, with Gillette as unwilling to submit to Chandler as vice versa.

This was the reason why young Will Turner could _not_ finally sign up for His Majesty's service, much to his disappointment and displeasure. He had believed that he could visit Elizabeth this evening and reveal the happy news, and that the delight that this must inevitably give her would lighten her up. Little did he know that, as unsatisfied he was with this delay, as lucky he was considering Elizabeth's opinion on it. She heard about it in the afternoon; Estella had taken over shift again, and her mistress could be persuaded to leave the room for an hour, and talk to her fiancé.

He was beaming when he told her, enhancing that it could only be a matter of days – a week, utmost – until the confusion in the fort would have been sorted out, so that he could, at last, become a soldier and thus, be capable of affording to marry her in five years, in all probability… At first, he was oblivious to her increasingly darkening features. But he could no longer ignore the lady's dismay when she jumped at him, "You will do no such thing! What a wretched idea!"

"But Elizabeth –"

"No! If you want to see an example of what's in store for an officer serving His Majesty, all you have to do is follow me upstairs!"

He was baffled, having expected no objection but praise in abundance, downright delight in fact, and he murmured, somewhat deflated, "I thought you'd be pleased!"

Her eyes were sparkling dangerously. "Pleased?! I'm already smashed with nursing an old friend, what do you think would happen if I saw _you_ in such a state?!"

"It won't come to that – Elisabeth, my love, please listen –"

"No!"

"But you said yourself that it is a _good_ thing!"

"As you could already have noticed, my first opinion on things is mostly the wrong one! I take it back! Absolutely – I should _hate_ to see you become a sailor, I should have no more quiet night for the rest of my life!"

"But I want to marry you, and how –"

"There will be another way then!"

"Elisabeth, I –"

He tried to convince her, she flatly refused to listen, and not before long, she sent him away. They had never argued before, and while Will was out of himself with distress, Elizabeth was plainly vexed and cross with him. For the first time, she could understand Henrietta's long-standing vow not to marry a sailor. What a sensible woman she was! How could Elizabeth have ever mocked her? And how silly had she been for ever proposing such a thing?

Will at sea – it was so terrible that she could have screamed! She stormed back into her room, now James Norrington's sickroom, and Estella looked up in bewilderment.

"You are very quick, Miss –"

"Yes, it was a very quick visit indeed!" She was still foaming with rage and let herself fall into her armchair, snatching the fan from the chambermaid and furiously waving it over poor James' head. "You can leave, Estelle. I'll call for you if I need you!"

Poor James! Here he was, closer to death than to life, and her crazy fiancé could think of nothing better than joining the King's Navy, was it possible?! Had 'poor James' been awake, he might have winced back with her treatment, that was bordering on violence. The compresses she made next were still dripping with ice water, and she wrapped them so tightly that it must have hurt. Some drops of water were running down from his forehead over his cheeks, and checking herself, she took a handkerchief and with much gentler moves, she wiped them away. Thinking about it, she dipped the tissue into the cold water, and carefully began to wash his face, his neck, his hands and his arms, and when she had finished, she made some new compresses for his calves, chest and forehead, calmer now, at least in her movements, and determined not to increase poor James' suffering only because dear Will behaved like a fool. She took up the fan again and waved with it, sighing with anger and worry and helplessness.

In that moment, Commodore James Norrington opened his eyes for a moment, shutting them in the next, but she had seen it nevertheless and jumped up with excitement. "James?"

He did not answer, but this didn't matter too badly; he _had_ opened his eyes, and if he opened them once, he would do so again, and… – She was out of herself with relief and joy, increasing her efforts still; she made Estelle bring fresh water, and the girl was almost as delighted as her mistress with the progress. Elizabeth told her to go to bed, since she surely would not leave this room again anyway until he had opened his eyes once more!

But in this night, he didn't move again, and Elizabeth's elation evaporated slowly. Could this have been a mere reflex? Or perhaps her own strained eyes had betrayed her…? Almost tenderly, she stroked some strands of hair from his temple, once more bemused to see that it was dark brown, much darker as her own in fact. He wore the obligate white wigs almost as long as she had known him; had somebody asked her about his colour of hair, she would probably have answered 'white' at first, before remembering that it was fake. The dark waves suited him well, she found; why would all these officers hide their good looks behind layers of brocade, powdered wigs and plainly silly triangular hats? This reminded her of Will's incredibly smart plan of becoming one of them too, and her anger returned with might. She wouldn't admit to anyone how tired she was, exhausted by lack of sleep, her great worry, and lately her argument with Will as well, and she found that it was all a bit too much.

"Wake up," she whispered softly and pressed his motionless hand. "Wake up, James… If you have ever loved me just a little bit, you must _wake up_ –"

Well, she'd better not measure his old love by his reaction, for he was as motionless as he'd ever been since he had been brought to this house, and Elizabeth in all her confusion could no longer suppress the tears. She wept in silence, pressing his hand, stroking it softly.

"I know, James," she muttered under her breath, "It's all been my fault. _Everything _was my fault. I've been horrible to you, in each and every aspect – but look, if you want to punish me for my wretched behaviour, think of something else, please. Don't you die under my hands… You've always been the grown-up between us two, so perhaps you have forgotten what it means to be only eighteen – though I guess _you_ never misbehaved, no matter how old you were… Look, James, I won't bear to have it on my conscience to have killed you, for the rest of my life, and that's still a pretty long time, I hope!"

No response, of course – and she gave a low sigh.

"You have a very good friend there, you know that? That Lieutenant Chandler, he – well, don't think he was any polite to me, he was not – but I don't deserve his friendliness either. He comes twice a day, every day, to ask for you, but he won't talk to me, only to my father. He thinks I'm a spoilt child, and perhaps he's even right… No, he _is_ right. Nobody ever dares to criticise the daughter of Governor Swann, just like nobody would dream of criticising him. _You_'ve always been much too kind to do so. Don't think I was ignorant of your merits, James! All my father's pomp and glory never made me forget that it's not Governor Swann who made this place respectable – it's been you, and you alone! I have not forgotten. Why have you always been so modest, James? Because frankly, you needn't be! I meant every word of what I've said that day on the Dauntless – the Dauntless, good Lord! – anyway, I did not lie to you. I want you to know that! You must know that! I cannot endure the idea that you could die thinking ill of me!"

She gave him so earnest a glance as if he could actually have seen her, praying that he might hear at least some of her entreaties.

"You _are_ a fine man, James, you're one of the best persons I've ever met with. You are everything that any woman should dream of marrying. _I_ am the idiot, you know? You've been simply too good and nice and benevolent to realise that. Honestly, you should rejoice that you got rid of me – I'm a troublesome creature, I know… Just yesterday, I gave poor Will such a hard time, only because he wants to join your fleet, only to afford it marrying me."

She clasped her mouth, wide-eyed. "Oh, forgive me – I shouldn't talk to you about Will! Oh, how thoughtless of me! Sorry! I'm so sorry, James! Anyway, what I really wanted to say is that you ought to be _glad_ to have escaped me. Really. You deserve to be happy, James, and I doubt that I have it in me to make _anybody_ truly happy. I'm good for nothing, I don't even make a useful nurse, otherwise you would be better, wouldn't you… Dear Hen, _she_ is a good nurse, she made her mother recover from a heavy case of pneumonia. Yet I'm too selfish to let her nurse you. It's been my fault, and I'm the one to make up for it… You know who brought you here? Not to our house, to Port Royal, I mean – it's been Jack Sparrow, can you believe it? I hadn't meant him to be capable to do anything that doesn't serve himself in the first place! What makes _me_ the worst egoist in this part of the world now, right?"

She let go of his hand and changed the compresses once more, still crying softly, and when she finished, she reached for his hand again. "What hands you've got – oh dear. _These_ are no sailor's hands! You should play the piano, you know? I've never asked you, I don't know why I've never asked you – have you learnt to play? I'm sure you have. And then you've exchanged the sonatas for the shanties, England's green pastures for the blue of the Caribbean Ocean. And what did you get for it? Nothing but trouble, war and a broken heart… Are you homesick sometimes? Will you return to England one day? You've got wake up for that first, you know? Oh James, when will you wake up… I'd do anything in my power only to hear your voice again! And poor Lieutenant Chandler – if you don't want to be doing it for me, do it for him. He's been a great friend to you, he swam miles and miles with you on his back. Do you even know that? I'll be forever indebted to him for doing this!"

She smirked lopsidedly. "I've heard they have some trouble down in the fort – you must wake up, go down and sort it out, see? And reward Lieutenant Chandler – oh God, if I imagine that he had returned without you! I should have never been happy again! You must also reward him for scolding me, I really mean it – he's a good man, almost as good as you. And Gillette is giving him a hard time, I've heard. Gillette is a fool, but you know that anyway. I'm glad that it wasn't him that you've appointed for the Dauntless – _he_ wouldn't have rescued you. Oh, smart as you are, that's probably why you've taken Chandler to begin with, right? Dear James, what can I do? You just don't want to wake up! I can understand that you must be tired after all of this, but can't you wake up for half an hour, just to tell me that you're all right, and eat a little bit? I leave you in peace then, you can sleep on then – just open your eyes for some minutes and speak to me, please!"

She pressed his hand and shook it carefully, wiping her own tears away with her free hand. It was hopeless, he could not hear her, but she simply couldn't stop talking, what else was there for her to do?

"I've prayed every free minute for you, dear. But the Lord is angry with me, and rightfully so, I guess. I deserve to be punished, I just don't think that He should take it out on you! But then – I have no right to blame Him, I know. Listen to me, how I'm talking, accusing the Lord where I have only myself to blame! It's been a miracle that you've survived, that Jack has found you, and good Doctor Jennings said your fever has become a little better… I only lack patience, I guess that's all. Poor Chandler is worrying for you much longer, and look at him, how patient _he_ is. That's just me again, selfish _and_ impatient… And utterly careless for anybody's feelings but my own, which is the worst of all – I shall better myself, James, I promise! If only you'll wake up, then you'll see how much I'm trying to change! Please, give me just one look, a smile – you've hardly ever smiled at me, you know that? But why should you, I never gave you much reason to smile, did I? How could you ever fall in love with me? Really, I don't understand that – I've been nothing but terrible to you! Perhaps I was civil sometimes, but who wouldn't be civil to you? That is no merit. Only a benevolent person like you could be so good as to see any merit in _me_."

It was in the darkest hour of night when Elizabeth found no more words to speak. He hadn't heard anything what she had said, but it made her feel better still, if only a little. The fan in her left, his hand in the other, she had fallen silent, observing his face that would not move, no matter what she did. The bed torch next to her was flickering, throwing moving shadows against the walls – if only _he_ would move as well! She would ask for nothing else.

Perhaps it were her desperate prayers, perhaps something else, but sometime in the dark hours, by some divine miracle to be sure, she saw a small twitch around his eyes, and her heart missed some beats.

"James? _James?_ Oh Lord, make him hear me, make him – James?"

And indeed – his lips were moving, and she didn't know whether it was only her own imagination, but she thought she saw his lips form a mute 'Elizabeth', though she could be mistaken. "James!" she cried, squeezing his hand too tightly, but she could impossibly notice that right now –

Slowly, she saw him open his eyes, he blinked, she cried his name over and over again, he turned his head a little to the side and seemed to recognise her, whispering, "Elizabeth…?"

She would thank the Lord on her knees, but later, only later, right now she couldn't think for any other thing than this, she kissed his hand in gratitude and her heart felt like bursting with joy. "Oh James! Dearest, dearest James!"

She didn't know what to do, where to begin with, suddenly anxious that she could worsen his state if she made a mistake now, so she merely pressed his hand, stroked over his cheek with the other, alternately addressing 'dearest James' and the 'Holy Lord' and bestowing both with an equal amount of praise and thanks.

James Norrington on the other hand was thoroughly incapable to grasp where he was, or what was happening with him, the only thing he could recognise was the thrilled face before him – Elizabeth, dearest, sweetest Elizabeth – was this a dream? Was he dead? He faintly thought that his head was aching too badly to be dead, but he had no better idea either. "Elizabeth," he whispered again, "What – where –"

The lady in front of him was too excited to give any further particulars that could be of use for anyone; she covered his hands with kisses, giving the good Commodore the notion that this _was_ a dream after all. She asked a dozen questions all at once. Did he want water? Food? The doctor? What on earth could she do for him?

He was a good deal overtaxed with all of this, it was far more than he could handle, and he passed out again. But this time, Elizabeth did not despair, he _had_ been awake, he had _recognised_ her, he had spoken – he would do so again, he would be better! She only needed to wait, and the next time, she'd be better prepared!

And so it came. He regained consciousness two or three times more before the break of dawn, only to sink again in the next moment, but the intervals became shorter, his wake moments longer, and Elizabeth had managed to get sufficient grip on herself to be able communicating some important bits to him. That he had been heavily injured – he was in the Governor's house – he had not opened his eyes for two weeks – Elizabeth Swann was the world's happiest creature. So much he could grasp from her words, and now, though in a daze yet, he slowly understood and felt the life returning to his limp body. He knew Elizabeth for half her life, but most certainly, he had never seen her like this, she was positively out of herself, and he had to smirk with so much vigour.

"You smile!" she cried triumphantly, "I begged the Lord to make you smile, and you do!"

He couldn't make the connection between anything he did and such outburst of joy in front of him, but it didn't matter, he could ask later for everything he didn't comprehend now. The only thing important in this minute was to see her, his dearest, mostly beloved Elizabeth, and some dark memory gave him the notion that he had been deadly sure to never be allowed setting his eyes on her again. But there she was, stroking his cheeks, his forehead, his hands, urging him to sip some water, and he let everything happen with him, too weak to oppose, far too much confused, and in fact, also too happy. Whatever it was that made Elizabeth care for him like this, it couldn't be such a bad thing.

Not long, and an eager Governor, an apt chamber girl, and fifteen minutes later, an experienced doctor where all around him, but Elizabeth stayed, quarrelling with the doctor and refusing to go, and summoning all his strength to increase the volume of his voice so far that he could be heard by the combatants, James pleaded to leave her stay, old Doctor Jennings shrugged and Elizabeth gesticulated behind his back to show her approval, and again, James couldn't but smile. What on earth was she doing there?

In eighteen years, Elizabeth Swann hadn't lived a morning so utterly filled with joy. She checked herself – no, it was true; in the night of Barbossa's defeat she had believed to have lost Will, the day of this one's declaration of love had been tinged with uneasiness for hurting the Commodore. _This_ morning had no such drawbacks, utter felicity governed her heart and spirits, and only hard effort kept her from singing and dancing around with happiness. James had woken up!

However, like always on occasions like that, her luck wouldn't last for too long. Around noon, her father came back, accompanied by Henrietta and the good Lieutenant, and what she had meant to be a party of well-meaning friends turned out to be a bunch of underhanded scoundrels.

"We've talked about everything," Governor Swann said with his habitual cheerfulness, "As soon as Doctor Jennings gives his consent, we shall bring you to the Van Dykes, Commodore!"

"_What?!_" Elizabeth stared at her father in nonplussed disbelief.

"Everything is taken care of," Henrietta continued unmoved, smiling at the patient and ignoring her appalled friend. "My parents are most happy to welcome you, Commodore –"

"Have you all run mad?!"

"Elizabeth, please tone down your voice!"

"Tone down? I will do no such thing, Father, what are you all talking about?! Take him away from here? But why?"

The four entirely forgot about the patient and began to row, well, actually it was only Elizabeth scolding and yelling, while the others tried to calm her. Henrietta, knowing best how to handle her old friend, finally convinced her to leave the Lieutenant have a short word with the Commodore _alone_, dragging her out of the room. In the hallway – Elizabeth would go no further away than that – she had to listen to a quiet, but nonetheless urgent appeal from Miss Van Dyke. She should be reasonable, she was told, everybody acknowledged what she had done for the good Commodore, but she would do him no favour when insisting to let him stay – she ought to take care of his feelings, and being nursed by her would not gratify them –

She couldn't really deny the truth of Henrietta's words, and like everything that this woman would ever utter, it was nothing but reason and sense. Elizabeth learned that the Lieutenant, her father and Henrietta had discussed the matter for the greatest part of the morning when she had attended to dear James, and since Henrietta, knowing her so very well, would enhance just the right points, Elizabeth couldn't but surrender in the end. Nevertheless, she was mad with them all; moderation was not in her temper. She was sulking, her arms crossed and glaring at her unhappy father and determined friend, the former most upset to quarrel with his beloved daughter, but the latter quite unimpressed. Henrietta Van Dyke wasn't easily intimidated, even less by one of her best friend's fits – she loved her very well, but sometimes, Elizabeth simply behaved like a child.

Elizabeth was very vexed, and scowling at Henrietta now, she recollected her words from the other day – Hen wouldn't refuse an offer of marriage from the Commodore, she had declared – oh, so _that_ was where the wind was blowing! Smart and cunning Miss Van Dyke, how well she had arranged all of this! She wanted to be the future Mrs Commodore and would stop at nothing to achieve her aim! Serpent! Nourishing betrayal in her bosom and disguising it as mindfulness!

"Now I see," Elizabeth hissed deadly, ""What a well conceived plan, Henrietta!"

The accused replied slightly bored, "I don't think you understand anything at all right now, my dear, but I trust that you will in time. Calm down, for goodness' sake!"

"No, no, I see right through you!"

"I dare say you will see much clearer once you've taken a good long nap, Lizzy. You've had a hard time. But I beseech you nevertheless to consider what's best for the Commodore!"

Elizabeth found that she was the only one around, with the possible exception of her clueless father, who had nothing but James' best interest at heart, and this was the only reason why she would bend to Miss Van Dyke's treacherous scheming. The whole world was conspiring against her, everybody who she had meant to be her friend was plotting to destroy her happiness! Henrietta here – how well she remembered all her speeches now, how _smart_ a match the good Commodore Norrington was, and Will – seeking to make a fortune for the expense of her peace of mind! Perhaps the Lieutenant, whom she believed to be James' true friend after all, had let himself be blinded by Henrietta's sly talking, and as for her own father – oh well! He never had an opinion of his own, he was always ruled by whoever it was he was speaking to!

Talking of the Lieutenant – he came back to them now, his face showing genuine relief, and Elizabeth was willing to regard him as the only intrinsically good person in the hallway at present. It was resolved that they would wait for Doctor Jennings, who was to come again in the afternoon, and until that, nothing but the devil himself would have driven the furious Miss Swann out of the sickroom again.

She let herself fall into the armchair again and mustered all her strength to give dear James a smile that wouldn't betray her sorrows. "But how are you, James?"

"It would be a lie if I claimed that I had never been better." He smiled in return. "But most certainly, I've never been luckier and that's something, isn't it?"

"Oh James… I can't say how glad I am to see you like that! I mean – not like _that_ of course, but that you will recover and –" She shook her head with herself, biting her tongue. It all came out quite wrong!

"I have to thank you, Elizabeth. You've been incredibly kind, everything you've done for me. I'm forever indebted to you."

"Nonsense! How can you say that! You're welcome anytime, although I rather have you not so ill ever again!"

He chuckled quietly but winced back with the pain in his head; she jumped up and grabbed the cloth to wipe his forehead with all care, murmuring, "You mustn't laugh, James. By all means you must avoid everything that could harm you –" She thought of the prior argument in the hallway, of Henrietta's urgings to be considerate of poor James' feelings, and despite the slight pangs of a guilty conscience, she went on like before. "I've _prayed_ to see you smile, James, but I suppose I shall better wait some longer, for now, you must be very careful!"

"Thank you as well for your prayers then. So how are _you_? You look weary –"

She could impossibly tell him what was on her mind and shrugged. "I'm only a little tired. It'll pass."

"Oh yes… You shall be relieved of your care soon, I'm sure that Doctor Jennings will agree that I'm already so much better than I can be moved. I'm sorry to have called on your hospitality for so long."

He couldn't know it, but nothing he might have uttered could have affronted her more. "Don't say that, James! You must not say that! You must now how welcome you are in this house!"

"And I thank you for your kindness."

"Stop being so formal, James! It was my pleasure – _pleasure_ isn't the word I was looking for, obviously – but I want you to really know how welcome you are! I wouldn't have allowed anybody else to look after you…"

She couldn't deny that by now, her spirits had weakened so far that no matter what she wanted to say, she was incapable of expressing herself in an intelligible way. She had to content herself with patting his arm in silence, and wipe his forehead every now and then, dreading Doctor Jennings' return. Surely, he was part of the conspiracy and would give his permission to bring poor James away, into the arms of that woman that Elizabeth had thought to be her friend for many years now, but who was in fact nothing but a calculating fortune seeker! He deserved something better than that! He deserved a woman feeling true affection for him! Not someone who wouldn't even stop from manipulating the old physician, or the unwitting Governor in order to achieve her aims. Oh, Elizabeth had seen right through her!


	10. Discontent

* * *

**Discontent**

* * *

At least _one_ question could be settled very soon after Commodore Norrington's awaking – Captain Filister was to stay his deputy some longer, and Lieutenant Chandler was to be the second-in-command. Filister's good humour seemed to have handled every other decision, too, Chandler's feeling of duty and honour would have been uneasy with the first position anyhow, so the only one who had a reason to lament was Lieutenant Gillette, who felt exceedingly ill-used, and would complain about it whenever somebody listened.

"Stop aggravating yourself, cousin," Filister giggled, "If it had been _you_ carrying your Captain on your back through half of the Caribbean, you were in charge now. But knowing you, you wouldn't have done so in the first place!"

"Don't talk so big, Francis! Neither would you, you bloody hypocrite!"

"I do not wonder that, with that attitude of yours, you've never been promoted, Henry. You need to shape up. The Admiral will arrive before long, and he'll have a post to bestow, you know?"

Gillette's grudge wasn't pacified so easily, and neither was Elizabeth Swann's. Dr. Jennings had complied with the others, so Commodore Norrington had been taken to the Van Dykes' house early in the next morning, and although his former nurse's outrage had been slightly softened by a very long and healthy sleep, she was still excessively angry, venting most of it on her father.

"But my dearest child," he tried to defend himself, at a total loss why she was so unsatisfied with him. "I thought I had understood that you have the Commodore's best interest at heart? So why do you wish him to suffer from your presence?"

If he had wished to hurt his daughter on purpose – but nothing could have been further from his intentions, naturally – he had chosen exactly the right words. _Suffer from her presence!_ It was awful, simply awful! She tried to stay calm and explained through gritted teeth, "At least _my_ presence isn't likely to _worsen_ his well-being yet! Good Lord, Father! Can it be possible that you really don't see what all of this is supposed to lead to? Henrietta Van Dyke is out to marry the Commodore!"

Ha raised his brows in surprise. "Is that so? I didn't know that, my dear! But that's wonderful, isn't it?"

"No, it is not!"

"But she is a very worthy young lady, and your best friend – she's very pretty, and a very thoughtful girl, and clever after all I've heard –"

"Clever! _That's_ a word! She's cunning, she's plotting, she's – damn it! He deserves more than that!"

"He deserves more than a pretty smart woman of virtue? I don't understand!"

"He deserves a woman who loves him with all her heart, Father! He deserves no less than that!"

"I see." He nodded, but Elizabeth could tell from his face that the opposite was true. She groaned – there was no use in discussing this with her father.

Elisabeth did her father very wrong with her presumptions; Governor Swann understood very well what she had said and would have agreed instantly. His confusion rooted somewhere else. He had known Miss Van Dyke for years, since her family had come to Port Royal. Her father was a merchant, living in the Caribbean for twenty-five years and settling in this town soon after the Governor's own arrival. Governor Swann had almost seen the girl grow up, had taken delight in his daughter befriending the young lady, and was very much inclined to think only the best of her. The Van Dykes were honourable people, and he had always found that their daughter had a very healthy influence over his own, sometimes very inconsiderate child. He was not ignorant of the fact that the young woman was very unlikely to fall for any man like his dear Elizabeth had fallen for her young blacksmith, but he failed to see the fault in this.

_Of course_ the good Commodore deserved an equally good wife, who was honestly attached to him; what the Governor couldn't grasp was why Elizabeth would so strongly decline this possibility with her friend. Honest affection needn't spring from violent fancy only. Remembering his dearest Mary, he found that she, too, had certainly never fancied himself like Elizabeth fancied her Will Turner, but he had no doubt that she had truly loved him nevertheless. Perhaps it was his daughter's youth and lack in experience that made her so unjust against her friend, but he did not dare telling her that.

It had never before leaped into to his mind that Miss Van Dyke and the Commodore could be attached to each other, simply because he had meant that his own child would marry this man, who had admired her so ardently. When it had become clear that she would not, but throw herself into the arms of a boy who resembled her so much in youth and quick temper, the Commodore had already left Port Royal, and any further ideas of whom he was to marry had appeared useless. Hadn't it been for Elizabeth's angry opposition, her father would have congratulated both the gentleman and the lady at once. Heavenly, wasn't it?

Miss Van Dyke was indeed a thoughtful nurse, and would look after her patient with the same care as her predecessor, if also with less anxiety. She left him to himself most of the time, not because she didn't bother, but because of her tact; she thought that he'd appreciate to have some time on his own. Sometimes, she sat down with him to chat a little, which was very agreeable indeed, or the Lieutenant would come, and all in all, she was quite satisfied.

Elizabeth hadn't erred in her idea that Henrietta was very much inclined to accept any offer of marriage from that quarter, but she was wrong in assuming that it was mere calculation with her friend. True, Henrietta's heart wouldn't beat faster when she was in the same room with James Norrington, but she did not expect any such thing either. She was fully aware of all his merits; she esteemed him very highly, and this was all she would ask for in a man. Nevertheless, her plan to bring him to her father's house hadn't originated in any other agenda but to relief him from Elizabeth's sight. She had been honest in everything she had said, and was certain that her friend couldn't fail to realise it, too, once she had calmed her overstrained nerves.

She was disquieted with Elizabeth's conduct. The young lady would come twice a day since the removal to call on the patient, but hardly spoke more than three words to Henrietta. But what was her problem now? How could she be so annoyed with a scheme that had been crafted in order to gratify everybody's feelings?

As her best friend was so obviously cross with her, she was glad to have found a new good friend that she could talk to, namely Lieutenant Chandler. He was a sensible and open man of twenty-six years, unaffected, calm, and possessing a dry sense of humour. They spent a good deal of time together, and with great interest, she listened to his story-telling about his family, his time in the Navy, and not at last, the Commodore.

As it turned out, Robert Chandler had been the youngest of four sons to a farmer, but was entirely without wistful memories of that part of his life, which had been ruled by hard labour, bad weather, and hunger very often. He had sought his luck in joining the Navy, and he had found it, speaking with great delight of the voyages, the battles, his Captain and declaring with a grin, "I'd trade Northern England's rain and soil for the Caribbean sun and waters anytime again, Miss!"

"But isn't it terrible to be away from home, Port Royal I mean, for so long? And all the dangers –"

"Being on board is far more pleasant than staying in the fort, Miss Van Dyke, believe me! What has happened to the Dauntless has been incredibly bad luck, she would have mastered a storm, and certainly have put every enemy in flight, but such evils combined – it's very unlikely that I shall see another battle like this, and having survived it, I see to the future with nothing but confidence!"

She nodded, yet doubtful, but the more she heard from him, the more she believed him. Perhaps a sailor's life wasn't as bad as she had always imagined it, at least when one had left the lower ranks behind. According to his First Lieutenant, Commodore Norrington was a good Captain, and this bit she believed most readily.

"You mustn't make the mistake to judge him from appearance, Miss," Chandler said nevertheless, eager as always to praise his friend and Commander. "I know, he seems to be very – well, reserved – and he is, in a way. But I've never heard him upbraid one of his men unfairly, he's always been caring and just. I owe all my luck to him. You must know, it doesn't happen too often that a man like me gains such a position. But the Commodore isn't conceited; he will promote anyone who can sail well, no matter where they come from. With another Captain but him, Lieutenant Gillette would be in my place, he's a baronet's son. Even though I sometimes suspect him being afraid of water even, but I assure you, that can't be true!"

He smiled cheerfully, and received some hearty laughter in return. "I've always been suspicious of making one's living on board of a ship, Sir, but after everything you told me, I shall eat all my words!"

"You don't like sailing?"

"Not too much, no, but I've been on a voyage only once, when we left Kingston to come here when I was thirteen years old. All I can remember is that I was being horribly seasick!"

"Nah, that's nothing. Almost everybody gets seasick their first time aboard. It's getting better with time!"

"But it's not very tempting to try it a second time when one has suffered so badly before!"

"All you have to overcome is your dislike, Miss, and besides – even the Commodore states he's been immensely seasick on his first journey, but perhaps he only said so to take away my own embarrassment!"

She couldn't imagine Commodore Norrington telling anybody about his seasickness, but Lieutenant Chandler must know him better, so she cried, "Oh yes, Commodore Norrington is a very good sort of man!"

"The best," he answered earnestly, adding with more gloom, "I wish everybody would think as you do!"

"But who could ever say any other thing about such a man?"

"Oh! There _are_ people! Admiral Thompson has sent a dispatch – he is most unsatisfied with Jack Sparrow's repeated escape, and wait until he learns about the loss of the Dauntless! You should have heard him after the Interceptor was stolen!"

"But none of this was the Commodore's mistake!"

"Apparently, that's a matter of perspective! Do you think Admiral Thompson cares about some Governor's daughter? If she's in league with a pirate – put her in jail! _That's_ what _he_ would have done. Same with the Governor's future son-in-law, no, _him_, they would have hanged straight away!"

"Please Sir, don't be harsh with them for that. Will Turner acted on Elizabeth's behalf, and she intervened for Jack Sparrow's sake because he had saved her life."

"I owe Captain Sparrow my own life, too, and my Captain's. I begrudge nobody for helping Captain Sparrow; that would be very ungrateful of me indeed."

"Yet you dislike Miss Swann –"

He bit his lips, "I don't like her as well as everybody else does, that's true. In my opinion, she has used the Commodore very ill, and I've seen him suffer from her thoughtlessness. You should have seen him, and all because of some little spoilt Miss!"

Henrietta sighed and smirked. "I cannot deny that Miss Swann is a little spoilt, very well. But she is a good person, and everybody has their faults. Should she truly have married one man when loving another?"

"Absolutely not, Miss, but she shouldn't have got engaged to him either!"

"Now, now, Lieutenant. The Commodore would have seen her marry somebody else and have suffered from it, with or without their prior engagement. I don't mean to justify her conduct, but do you really think it would have made such a difference?"

"Forgive me for appearing unfair, Miss Van Dyke. I don't mean to offend you. But I don't possess the Commodore's good-will, or the Governor's indulgence. It annoys me to see the little Miss adding up faults and flaws in abundance, and everybody excusing her still. 'She shouldn't have done this, but' and 'She shouldn't have done that, though' – everybody else is seized with the same measure, only for Miss Swann, the whole world is inclined to make one exception after the other!"

Could 'Little Miss Swann' have heard the Lieutenant talk like that! For she was still convinced that the 'whole world' had set up to conspire against her. She had met Will again after their argument; he had begged her for forgiveness, and she had happily granted it, still, she was not content. After prohibiting him from joining the Navy, their possible wedding seemed to have slipped even further away into the distant future, and she was at a loss what else could be done.

"I've got an aunt in England," she muttered pensively. "She's rich, she's got no sons or daughters – perhaps I should write to her, and ask her for a share of her heritage –"

"Good heavens, Elizabeth, you couldn't do that!"

"Why not? All my cousins are bound to receive their share, but she might have forgotten me, since we haven't seen each other for nine years…"

Will was pale, his eyes piercing hers with an imploring expression. "No, Elizabeth, no! Firstly, you must not ask any old lady to mention you in her testament – just imagine how pressuring that sounds! And secondly – _I_ could never accept that! _I_ will be the one to provide for my wife, and possible children! I downright refuse to live from your family's money –"

"Don't be silly, Will! Gift horses! It will take ages for you to earn enough money to please my father – like that we could be married as soon as you are twenty-one!"

"My dear Elizabeth," he murmured; his voice had adopted a desperate tone. "Have you thought that your aunt might live some more years, and most hopefully so?"

"Yes, of course. I had in mind to ask her to pay me off before her decease!"

He groaned and clutched his hands. "Elizabeth, please! I will make a fortune myself to deserve you, I will, trust me!"

"You don't need a fortune to _deserve_ me, Will!"

"Oh, you know what I mean! I couldn't live with myself if I depended on your family's money!"

"But you could live with _me_ then," she retorted tersely, shaking her head with his foolish objections.

"This is a matter of self-respect, Elizabeth," he insisted. "No decent man wants to rely on his bride's money to make a living!"

She was vexed with his attitude, and it wasn't the only reason for her ill humour. Henrietta was equally stubborn; she hadn't even _tried_ to make amends. Elizabeth paid her back by ignoring her, but Henrietta seemed oblivious to this anyway. Instead, she was ingratiating herself with the Commodore's confidante Lieutenant Chandler to secure her victory. Despicable behaviour! Elizabeth was shocked with herself for not having noticed her friend's vices earlier – exploit a man's weakness to soften his heart and sneak through the back door like a thief at night! And how sly she did all of this, well concealed by a mask of alleged 'virtue' – ha! Elizabeth was the only one who saw her for what she really was, and was grimly satisfied with her newly-gained knowledge. She had talked to Will about it, but he, not knowing Miss Van Dyke, and not overly concerned for the Commodore, was at a loss to understand the problem.

"Shouldn't you be gratified if your two friends were attracted to each other?" he asked guilelessly, his big brown eyes making him look like a puppy, and she felt a sudden urge to slap him for such ignorance.

"They are _not_ attracted to each other, how often do I have to tell you?! She only wants him because he is such a 'smart match' –" She spat the words out with contempt. "And he is too good to even understand that she's only pretending to be so nice and careful to make him marry her!"

"Well, that's what people normally do when they want somebody else to marry them, isn't it?"

She groaned with so much thickness and refrained from further explanations. She was also very unhappy that James had returned to address her 'Miss Swann', what, of course, obliged her to call him 'Commodore Norrington' again. At first, she did not complain, she simply did not dare to touch that matter. But after two or three days, she took heart at last and without looking at him, she murmured, "Please – I've thought – can't you just call me Elizabeth, like you used to?"

He didn't answer at once, and she couldn't but steal a glance at him. He was staring at his hands, clearly embarrassed, and replied very quietly, "I think your fiancé could dislike that –"

"Oh no, not at all!"

He chuckled, still averting his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely! He – er, he's very fond of you!"

He laughed flat out. "Is he? That's nice, even though I don't understand why he should be!"

"You're his hero, you know?" She couldn't but smile as well, glad to see him lighten up a bit. "He always wanted to be like you –"

"Now that's – a little disturbing, actually! Are there two other men on this island more different than him and me?"

Dangerous waters, she knew, but bravely carried on joking, "Well, he's learnt sword fighting because he admired it so much with you, and in fact, he nearly would have joined the Navy!"

She could tell from his expression that he – just like her – had the third thing in mind that he and Will Turner had in common, but he was kind enough not to mention it and merely smirked. "Oh, I've heard of _that_! Lieutenant Chandler told me that he changed his mind the next day?"

"I forbade him to do it," she grumbled and blushed.

"Why's that?"

"Too dangerous!"

He laughed again and nodded. "Can't argue with that, can I?"

As much as she enjoyed the memory of this chat, as sad she was that it remained without effect. He would refrain to call her Elizabeth nevertheless, and she never dared again to press him.

Another source of malcontent was the Captain, in whom she had set so many hopes. For a start, he did not exert himself in tryingto court Miss Van Dyke's favour and disperse at least some of her time, that she unquestionably used to bewitch the Commodore instead. And then, she had heard about the Admiral's anger with the poor Commodore – Elizabeth would have expected the Captain to put in a good word for him! Her own part in this story was troubling her exceedingly and gave her some sleepless hours at night. But she couldn't think of anything that she could do _now_, except for once again praying to the Lord.

At least one man had reason to rejoice with the recent developments, and this was Lieutenant Gillette. He found it only right that the Commodore for once wasn't treated like a saint, for the entire town of Port Royal regarded him like that. No, the Admiral would set things right, and perhaps, only perhaps, Gillette soon wouldn't have to endure a man like Chandler any longer.


	11. The Mysteries of Courtship

* * *

**The Mysteries of Courtship**

* * *

Commodore Norrington was more than slightly confused. Partly, this was due to a severe concussion that, even after regaining his consciousness, tied him to bed for another two weeks. He wasn't accustomed to such leisure and read most of the books that Elisabeth and Miss Van Dyke brought him, smirking with Elizabeth for slipping in pirate stories every now and then. But the greater contribution to this general state of disorientation was owed to the strange behaviour of almost everybody around him.

With the exception of Robert Chandler, everyone seemed peculiarly altered. The situation in the fort was all haywire, as far as he could see, and James couldn't quite understand _why_. One officer was as good as another in this respect, he thought, and he had positively never regarded himself as anything like irreplaceable. Why three grown men, capable soldiers all of them, intelligent and dynamic – well, except Gillette, maybe – why these men couldn't sort out the most basic problems on their own… No, he didn't get it.

Then there were his hosts, the Van Dykes. Mr and Mrs Van Dyke had always been civil, but now they treated him with utmost, almost suspicious kindness. This wouldn't have come as a shock, but their daughter was indeed surprising. He had never really noticed her, although she had been Elizabeth's friend and they had often met. Miss Van Dyke was exceedingly attentive and friendly, she was a pleasant person to talk to, and he appreciated her tact and good manners. _Everybody _seemed to be acutely aware of her merits, and kept on praising her in the warmest tones. Her parents, Chandler, every single servant entering the Commodore's room – nobody would leave again without uttering at least _some_ nice thing about Miss Van Dyke, to an extent that it bewildered the patient.

Everyone was full of praise for the young Miss, except for the _other_ young Miss. Who, mind you, had been her best friend for many, many years. Indeed, Elizabeth reacted quite extraordinarily to her; she was cool, bristling even, and both he and Miss Van Dyke had clearly no idea as for why. As for Elizabeth – she was behaving as weird as – in fact, he failed a proper comparison for her behaviour. She was just everything she had never been, at least in his presence; she was caring – alarmingly caring sometimes, one day for example, she had actually advised him not to _smile_ not to worsen his headaches – she was attentive, she was high-spirited and easy-going. If these were the effects of being engaged to the Turner boy, James should perhaps cease being unhappy about it. _Perhaps_.

She had asked him to call her by her first name, like he had used to do ever since she was twelve or so, and had seemed a bit upset when he had told her that he couldn't. He didn't defy her to cause her uneasiness, but he simply couldn't address her any other way than 'Miss Swann'. 'Elizabeth' – in his mind, he would never call her any other way, adorned with some attributes like 'dearest', 'loveliest' or 'incomparable'. But this was his own private secret, and in public, it would cause him to think of her as the one he had lost, which was too painful to keep his dignified pose. She was somebody else's 'Elizabeth' now, and he was determined to grieve in silence and on his own.

In the fort, there had been lots of changes as well, beginning with the new Head, famous Captain Filister. Perhaps it was because James Norrington had held this position for six years now and disliked to see somebody else in it, but he couldn't make up his mind to be truly endeared to that man. Or perhaps it was due to the fact that they were so thoroughly different in personality and humour, he couldn't say. However, Captain Filister had dutifully reported to Admiral Thompson, and this one was announced to arrive in a few days. Which meant trouble. James would have to explain how it was possible to lose _two_ battleships in only four months, why Captain Sparrow had pulled his head out of the literal noose two times directly under the eyes of a whole Navy squad and himself, and finally, why said Captain Sparrow of all persons had been the one to ship James and the other survivors back home.

No matter how he looked at it, he knew it was hopeless, and he knew enough of Admiral Thompson to foresee the man's reaction. In a few days, James sensed, he would no longer be the Head of Port Royal's fort; his possible successors were either Filister himself, which was not too likely, as he was normally stationed in Nassau with his crew, or Lieutenant Gillette. That one would be made a Captain, which was enough to be Head of a fort of this size, and Commodore James Norrington, though outclassing him in rank, would be called to his service. As he hadn't committed a crime, they couldn't take away his Commodore honours, but he wasn't even sure how much he would have cared anyway. It all left him strangely unmoved. So he'd be a simple Captain again with an improper title, and although he should have minded strongly, he did not.

Another thing occupied him far more. He wanted to sail out and meet those vessels that had attacked them that night. No ship would ever have dared to have attacked the Dauntless in calm waters – they would have lost a battle anytime. As unusual as it might appear to Elizabeth and Miss Van Dyke, to whom he had talked about the matter – he mourned the loss of his ship far more than his soon degradation. Well, Chandler at least understood, apparently it needed a sailor to comprehend another sailor's love for his ship. To forever lose Elizabeth and the Dauntless in only three months – _that_ was a real tragedy!

There was no way of getting either of these two back, but at least, he could avenge his ship, and he would! Two – three – ships sailing with Dutch flags and disguising themselves as merchants, firing at them in the middle of a hurricane… He couldn't put his finger on it, but there seemed to be more to it, and he needed to find this out. But for a start, he needed a new ship, and in this respect, it was excellent that Admiral Thompson was expected so soon. He would come with a small fleet; two substitutes for the Dauntless and the Interceptor, and one for Captain Filister. James asked himself whether he would be as fond of his new ship as he had been of the Dauntless – he had never cared too much for the Interceptor, she had been a good, fast ship, and he had been proud of it, but nothing more – but came to only one conclusion. Just like Elisabeth was incomparable and impossible to be replaced in his heart, it would surely be with the Dauntless as well.

"Oh, Commodore, I wouldn't fret if I was you." Captain Filister had chuckled loudly. "You'll soon have forgotten your Dauntless when you've set eyes on your new ship! Personally, I'm looking forward for my new one – the Fortuna has seen better days!"

James suppressed a frown, thinking that something must be wrong with a man who would so easily replace his first ship for another! James himself was convinced that no other ship, no matter how solid and useful, could ever come to replace the Dauntless, which had been his first own ship to command, in his heart.

Will Turner's sorrows came from another quarter. He hadn't lost a ship, he hadn't lost his fiancée – his only worry was how on earth he could be able to marry her as soon as possible. 'Soon' was an euphemistic word here – it would at least take half a decade, even if Elizabeth hadn't suddenly decided to find the Navy to be the worst of all possible professions. He hoped though that with Commodore Norrington's recovery, she would soften again. He could think of no other way to make his fortune, and the Navy promised to be quite rewarding. He was a very good sword fighter, he had no doubts that he'd be a good sailor as well, as the time with Jack aboard the Interceptor had proven.

Jack – wasn't it the strangest thing he had ever heard of, that Jack had found and saved the Commodore and his men on some minuscule island? _Jack and Norrington?_ Luckily, the latter had been unconscious during the journey! Will couldn't imagine how these two would have gotten along otherwise! Jack was an odd fellow, unpredictable, coarse, and drunken most of the time. Everything that the Commodore was not, and must hate in another man. Jack on the other hand had always mocked Norrington, 'Holier than thou' he had taunted – and to steal the Commodore's gloried Interceptor in front of his nose he had found to be his personal masterpiece.

Elizabeth had been similarly amazed when she had heard about it for the first time, but by now, she claimed it to be the most natural thing in the world.

"Come on, Will – what else should he have done? Leave them to die? He owes it to the Commodore!"

"Your dear Commodore wanted to _hang_ him, Elizabeth! Would have hanged him already if he had had the chance!"

She shook her head at him. "Yes of course he wanted to hang him. Jack is a pirate, James is a high-ranked officer! It's his _job_ to capture pirates and hang them!"

"James?"

"Besides – he let him go, didn't he? Could there be possibly any other sailor in the entire Royal Navy who would have let him escape?"

"James?"

She stared at him; it took her a minute before she understood the question, and she started to laugh. "That's his name, you know?"

"You call him 'James'?"

"No, actually I don't. I used to call him like that, but that was – oh well!" She was angry with his intrigued look, and vaguely thought of her conversation with _James_ two weeks ago. She had assured him that Will wouldn't mind if he addressed her by her first name, and was most astounded to see that she might have been mistaken there. Ridiculous!

"So how does _he_ call you?" Will asked, sounding a little suspicious.

"Miss Swann, if you want to know!" she replied surly, recalling her upset about it, and venting all her anger on poor Will now, "That's an impertinent thing to ask me! And even if he said 'Elizabeth' – so what? He has known me since I was a child!"

"So did I, nevertheless I never said anything else but 'Miss Swann' –"

"That's not true for a start, and then you may have forgotten how strongly I disliked it!"

He looked like a beaten puppy again, and though usually, she found that very sweet, she was too angry still and would rather have scratched his beautiful brown eyes out than get lost in them. What exactly was he insinuating there? That he was jealous on that man that she had left for him? How silly could he be? And speaking of silly – with her praise of Jack Sparrow, he appeared to be discontent as well, making her gasp with indignation.

"I hate reminding you, Will," she snarled when the topic came up the next time. "But you seemed to have a high opinion of Jack as well – or why were you so eager to sabotage his execution?!"

"I am quite fond of Jack, but allow me to wonder how fond _you_ are of him," he retorted, looking instantly shocked at his own verve to talk back to her in such a way.

Taking up the cue, Elizabeth narrowed her eyes to glower at him. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Nothing, I –"

"He's saved my life, you know?! I am very fond of Jack, yes, and if even my father can live with that, you better accustom to it, too!"

He winced back and raised his hands almost defensively. "No, Elizabeth, you mistake me, I… Really, you misunderstood my meaning!"

She seized him up, still looking exasperated, but shrugged at last. "All right, then. Sorry."

"No, no, _I_ am sorry!"

Just like Elizabeth Swann, Lieutenant Chandler maintained his habit to see his Commodore twice a day, bringing news, chatting about their mutual profession, news from the fort, and to James Norrington's astonishment, also about the lovely Miss Van Dyke.

"_She_ is a _worthy_ young lady, Sir," the young man said with emphasis.

"I do not doubt it, Robert."

His friend blushed somewhat and lowered his gaze. "You know – have you talked some more to her parents?"

"They're hosting me so very kindly; yes, of course, I have talked to them!"

"And didn't you – _notice_ something?"

James frowned, not understanding a word of what Chandler tried to tell him. Obviously, he had something on his chest, but what should that be?

"Sir, I do not mean to impute – well – I've heard some things, and I wonder…"

"Speak as plainly as you always do, Robert, that's one of the things I appreciate most in you!"

"Oh well… As I've heard, Mr Van Dyke and his wife – they'd be very pleased if you – have you any intentions of proposing to Miss Van Dyke?"

The Commodore's jaw dropped and he gaped at his friend without any of his habitual dignity. "I beg your pardon?"

"Forgive me for intruding in your personal matters, Sir, I was just wondering. After all, she _is_ a fair lady…"

James hadn't recovered from his shock when named fair lady knocked and walked in. He summoned his wits and smirked at her, but he was still utterly perplexed. The Lieutenant got up, equally embarrassed and claimed that he had to go.

"I shall accompany you, Sir." She smiled friendly, and in the next moment, they were both gone, and James was left alone to his confusion. Propose to Miss Van Dyke…? He hadn't thought of anything like that; as a matter of fact, he hadn't recovered from his _last_ proposal and had no intention to make another!

Nevertheless, he gave it a thought or two. Frankly, he thought the greatest part of the evening about it – marry Miss Van Dyke? She _was_ in every respect a very fine woman to be sure, but he needn't check his heart too long, he wasn't in love with her, not at all. He did love Elizabeth. But this was one was engaged to another man that _she_ was madly in love with, so he ought to forget about her. Was it enough foundation for a marriage to _like_ somebody? He had a high regard for the young Miss, so perhaps… Would his heart mend faster if he tried to bestow all those feelings that he had for Elizabeth to another woman? Was it better to base a marriage on regard and sense than on these excessively painful emotions that were tearing him apart now?

He remembered his parents – he did not think of them very often, he hadn't seen them for twelve years. His parents hadn't married for love either, no. They had married because it was a proper match, a _smart _match. Had they been happy? He found that he couldn't answer this. In any case, they hadn't been very tender and had never shown signs of greater affection, but this didn't necessarily mean that they had been unhappy, did it?

However, had anyone made the effort to ask the young lady what she thought of that? Her parents' wishes – oh well, had it been for Governor Swann's wishes only, he'd be James Norrington's father-in-law by now. He had the distinct impression that Miss Van Dyke had none of Elizabeth's feverish temper, and perhaps, she wouldn't oppose her parents. Besides, she had indeed shown great care for him…

He fell asleep over his contemplation, while in another bed in Port Royal somebody could find no sleep at all. As he wasn't used to such agitation, Lieutenant Chandler was pretty bewildered with himself, but his firmest resolutions could still not conquer his insomnia. A lot of things were gyring around in his mind. The impending inspection of Admiral Thompson, for example – just like the Commodore, Lieutenant Chandler wasn't fooled what this visit would bring. It infuriated him to think that his friend was to carry the can that little Miss Swann and her suitor had filled for him, that a buffoon like Gillette should be the Commodore's superior soon, if not in rank then at least in situation. Gillette was no patch on James Norrington, but without a doubt he would deceive himself in this respect, and Chandler couldn't imagine a worse Head for the fort than this man. His arrogance, his pride, his vanity – these were no traits enabling a man to make the right decisions, he lacked the Commodore's upright sense of justice and reason, and also his courage and fortitude of mind.

He did not blame the Commodore for anything, still it was almost unintelligible to him how James could ever have set his heart on such a silly little girl and accepted every possible consequence that had come with it. Well, almost. Robert Chandler was in his twenties, and his profession had never brought him near lovely young ladies, therefore he never had felt any sentiment comparable to the Commodore's delicate feelings for his former fiancée. Only recently, and under the most unpleasant circumstances, he _had_ encountered a woman which had incensed his spirits. She was _lovely_, she was pretty and most amiable, intelligent and composed – shortly, she was high above himself. He was nothing but a poor farmer's son after all, Lieutenant or not, while Miss Henrietta Van Dyke was a rich gentleman's daughter.

Such a woman was far beyond his reach, and additionally, she was quite likely to be the future Mrs Commodore. It wasn't only her parents who favoured this match, she herself did so; in passing, Chandler had overheard some servants gossiping and saying as much. Of course she did; who but the Governor's ungrateful daughter could be oblivious of that gentleman's merits? And who, if not a lady of Miss Van Dyke's grace and temper, would be able to repair the Commodore's wounded heart, in the same way as she already cared for his physical injuries? It was only a matter of time until James Norrington would realise what treasure was bringing his breakfast each morning, it was impossible that he should miss it.

Lieutenant Chandler loved his friend very well, and even now, he felt no jealousy. The Commodore deserved a worthy woman more than anyone, and even if she had _not_ loved him, she would still never fall for a man like the Lieutenant anyway. If the Commodore wanted her, his friend would not oppose, and he hoped that his satisfaction to see two so decent people united should defeat his own grief. He remembered with dry amusement his own words that he had once directed at his Captain to give this one some consolation – there were too many deserving young ladies in the world to wreck oneself because of one who did not return this admiration. He did not miss the irony, but was still convinced that he had spoken the truth. Just that _some_ deserving lady was even more deserving than her fellows could ever be.


	12. Admiral Thompson's Visit

* * *

**Admiral Thompson's Visit**

* * *

Admiral Thompson and his small fleet came, and every soldier in Port Royal stood to attention in their best uniforms. Against Doctor Jennings' urgent advise and despite Miss Swann's desperate appeals, Commodore Norrington had traded his sickbed for the fort to welcome his superior, although he couldn't deny that it took all his willpower to ignore his bursting headaches, overcome his nausea and keep his pose unfaltering.

The Admiral's face promised no good while he reviewed the troops, only Captain Filister's good humour wasn't to be conquered, and why should it. His new ship was anchoring in the harbour, and he was one of the few high-ranking officers around that had no reason to worry; he would soon set sails and return to Nassau Port and that was that.

The Governor had come too, of course, and was accompanied by his pretty daughter, who strongly disliked parades, but had more than one reason to attend this one. For a start, she was determined to watch over the Commodore's disquieting state of health, if this one himself was so utterly unreasonable, exposing himself to the dazzling heat and merciless sun. She was surprised (and scandalised!) that Henrietta had let him go, and she was once more appalled with her former friend's cold blood.

Above all, Elizabeth had come today to face the Admiral; she wasn't oblivious of his displeased opinion on everything that had happened in the prior months and his determination to see to some punishment. This wasn't to be suffered, at least concerning the Commodore, she would do everything in her power to prevent him from harm and had no doubt that she would succeed at last.

Fortunately neither the Governor, nor Commodore Norrington had any idea about the young lady's plans, for that would have increased their uneasiness rather than relieved them. Even a well-meaning father like Governor Swann had realised by now that he would have to bridle his child's temper some more, or it would get her into such severe troubles that even his influence couldn't save her. As for the Commodore – he was a man of the law, he had internalised the rules of the Navy and knew how useless any intervention from Miss Swann's side would be, as well as the dangers of her possible meddling. He cared only little about his impending degradation, as long as he would get a ship to revenge the one he had lost, and would never cease to put Elizabeth's benefit before his own. No, had he known her heart in this moment, his nerves would have been much more tense than they were now.

However, the formal welcome was over at last – the upbraid was to come, and the Admiral, his attending officers, the Commodore, the Captain, the two highest Lieutenants, Governor Swann and his daughter went over to the Head office. First, the Commodore made his report, his voice was steady, but Elizabeth could tell from his eyes how embarrassing all this was for him. He stuck to the facts only, leaving out every bit concerning her own unsuitable conduct, which gratified the Governor, but shamed his daughter and annoyed Lieutenant Chandler.

Next was Captain Filister, who had nothing special to say; his stay in Port Royal had brought no remarkable events, except for the night of the Commodore's return, and about this point, the Admiral had a question. His tone was brisk, "Have you set out to pursue said Captain Sparrow?"

"No," Filister sighed, gazing briefly at Lieutenant Chandler. "I meant to go in the next morning, but had to learn that Sparrow had been granted safe-conduct anyway."

"And who was it to grant safe-conduct to a wanted pirate, Captain?"

He sighed again and looked at Chandler, who stepped forth, saluted and said firmly, "I was, Sir!"

"_You_ have granted a criminal safe-conduct…?" Admiral Thompson asked with some malice.

"My Commander being severely injured, I was his representative, Sir. It was necessary to bring Commodore Norrington back here by any means –"

The man in question turned his eyes to the ceiling and pressed his lips together; Chandler was getting himself into trouble there, but there was nothing his friend could do about it, nothing at all. The Admiral narrowed his eyes, literally piercing the young Lieutenant, "By all means, hm? – So what you say is that you gave guarantees to a _pirate_, opposing every possible law, just to come back here?"

"I did, Sir," Chandler said, his voice bordering on a challenge, but the Admiral did not go further into the matter just now, and continued his inquiries. Elizabeth had been on the verge of crying out with indignation – how could somebody blame Chandler for his excellent conduct?! What could have been more important than bringing James home?!

"This brings me back to the beginning of all the strange events in this town – Captain Sparrow. I've understood that it was he who commandeered the Interceptor?"

"That's right," James said quickly, before anyone else could have uttered a word.

Thompson sneered. "Astonishing. Don't you think? If it is possible to navigate a ship like the Interceptor on one's own – I wonder why the Navy pays entire crews of dozens, hundreds of men even, to sail them."

James merely beckoned, and when the Admiral starting asking about Sparrow's possible assistants, he gave a rather twisted report of the events of that day. According to him, Will Turner, fiancé of the Governor's daughter, who had been kidnapped in the night before, had gone to see said Jack Sparrow to ask about the probable destination of the Black Pearl. This one had claimed to know Miss Swann's whereabouts and persuaded the young man to assist him in exchange for his help to rescue the lady –

Lieutenant Gillette looked baffled with this very well-meaning interpretation of the events, which might have been liberal, but otherwise not exactly a lie. The Admiral's eyes were protruding, but the Commodore calmly went on, "Mr Turner is a civilian, Sir, and may therefore not be judged by Navy laws. He pleaded for a state of emergency and was granted clemency by the Governor whose subject it is to see to the civil laws."

The Governor nodded; the Admiral could have nothing on him and his decisions, but he felt a little awkward nevertheless. Only Elizabeth did not dare raising her eyes. Although _this_ was still a part of the whole story where she wasn't directly to blame, she felt James Norrington's kindness and generosity, shaming her to no end.

The Admiral cleared his voice and sneered. "So much for that. One of the best ships of the entire Royal Navy commandeered by a pirate and a civilian, _directly_ under the eyes of our troops. Hm. I see. Go on!"

The Commodore then claimed that after finding Miss Swann and Captain Sparrow, he ordered to pursue the Black Pearl to capture the infamous Captain Barbossa, who had by then abducted Mr Turner to lift the curse –

Admiral Thompson lifted his hand and gestured at him to stop. "Oh yes, this curse," he drawled, "that every child in Nassau is talking about! Tell me, I'm _dying_ to know, of what _curse_ are we talking here?"

James told him in some plain words, and the disbelieving Admiral was confronted with five vigorously nodding adults, who couldn't _all_ have run mad. He swallowed. "I see. Oh well. Go on, Commodore, it can't get much worse, can it?"

It could, as James Norrington knew just too well. He wished Elizabeth wasn't here, he would have liked to spare her the Admiral's indignation. He went on with his report, and when he declared Captain Barbossa's death, he was interrupted once more.

"So who else can bear witness that pirate's death, except Captain Sparrow, who is after all a pirate himself, and this civilian?"

"I have seen it," Elizabeth cried and her father groaned. "I may be only a 'civilian' –" She pronounced the word with glee. "But I recognise a dead man when I see one nevertheless!"

Admiral Thompson goggled at her for a moment, Commodore Norrington closed his eyes just as long, but Elizabeth glared back at the Admiral in proud defiance. He chose to ignore her and ordered the Commodore to commence. He had a chance to speak without further interruptions until he came to the very worst part of it all – the day of Captain Sparrow's execution, or the day that had supposed to be his last, anyway.

"I don't understand," the Admiral said maliciously. "How exactly did this pirate survive his hanging?"

"That was an accident, Sir," James lied bravely, avoiding everyone's face but the Admiral's. "Mr Turner, being a good Christian, had decided that the man who had helped to rescue his fiancée should not die such a miserable, slow death, and threw his sword to spear him instead. He missed him, but Captain Sparrow could get free like that. Mr Turner, overwhelmed by what he meant to be a sign of the Lord, tried to keep the troops from killing Captain Sparrow, but capitulated without further resistance and was willing to accept every consequence of his actions."

Luckily, Admiral Thompson was so stupefied by the Commodore's explanations that he looked at no one else but him, or he would have seen many confused faces. Elizabeth was on the verge of fainting, staring at her former fiancé as if she had never seen him before, and felt so likewise. What on earth was he saying there?! No doubt, Will was surely a good Christian, but that certainly hadn't prompted him on that particular day to act as he had, and James knew that very well! She had never suspected that he could be capable of a downright lie, and was excessively impressed how smoothly he lied now, for the sake of a man that he must hate like no other!

"In the general confusion, Captain Sparrow tried to flee and trapped over a ledge, falling down the cliff."

"And of course you've set after him and fished him out?"

Lieutenant Gillette winced back with the dripping sarcasm in the Admiral's voice, but the Commodore merely smirked. "No, he was rescued by his old crew. But we took up the persecution directly in the next morning."

"Now did you?" Admiral Thompson stared at him. "Why didn't you follow him straight away?"

"The Dauntless is much slower than the Black Pearl, Sir. We wouldn't have captured them anyway, and it takes some preparations for a longer journey, as you of course know."

When a man had a reputation for his righteousness and bravery like the good Commodore, he wasn't lightly accused of a lie or other failures, and not even the Admiral dared to question him now. His eyes were wide with bewilderment, and he murmured in exasperation, "What you've done then, I already know – now tell me once again what happened to the Dauntless!"

Glad to return to the pure truth, James had little difficulties in relating the events of that horrid night, the storm, the attack, the exploding powder magazine, and at this point, Chandler had to take over, but he hadn't done so much as said how he had found his Captain floating in the ocean, when the Admiral asked quietly, "What else could you see from the attackers?"

"Nothing, Sir, only what I've reported already."

Captain Filister, who had been silent up to now, raised his hand and asked with a frown, "Isn't it likely that the Black Pearl was one of those ships? Especially as it seemed to cruise in these waters anyway?"

The Commodore had no answer to this very unexpected question, but it was the Admiral who shook his head now, to everybody's surprise. "The Black Pearl may be the fastest ship in the whole Caribbean all right, but still it can't be in two places at once. On our way here, we've anchored in several harbours, and I've heard more than one story fitting to these Dutch vessels just too well. Three ships sailing under Dutch colours have attacked and destroyed a Spanish frigate before Cape San Antonio. This happened quite exactly fourteen weeks ago, when the Black Pearl was _here_ to save their Captain – I've talked to the First Lieutenant of the ship myself, a grieved man who got rescued by some fishermen."

Captain Filister gaped at him. "But… But why should Dutch merchants attack a frigate, or one of our ships, just as well?"

"Don't be silly," gnarled the Admiral. "If these ships were Dutch merchant vessels, I'll be a French princess!"

Elizabeth suppressed a giggle with that comparison, and so did the Admiral's attending officers. Gillette and Captain Filister were a bit speechless, but in the Commodore's eyes, there was an eager sparkle. So there was a trace of those scoundrels who had sunken the Dauntless, at last!

Apparently, the First Lieutenant was the only survivor of the frigate's crew; he had been hurled overboard when the ship had been hit by a heavy impact, which had apparently saved his life. According to his report, he witnessed the entire crew being murdered by the attackers, in the most gruesome fashion. The Admiral spoke with a sombre expression of the survivor's report of dozens of corpses that had been found in the nets of the fishermen of San Antonio in the following days, with their throats slit.

Elizabeth clasped her mouth, the Governor whimpered, and with the same gloomy fashion, Admiral Thompson went on, "After I've spoken to the lad, I inquired in other harbours. Little could be found out, but nevertheless, I personally talked to another sailor who could confirm a very similar story, he, too, was the only survivor of such an attack. He was particularly fruitful. He was Dutch himself and told me how his ship was entered by said pirates. He swore that they weren't Dutch, but English, but their Dutch colours had made his own Captain let them come so near in the first place. They entered the ship and slaughtered everyone aboard who wouldn't join them, this sailor himself only survived because they assumed him to be dead already and threw him into the sea. Their Captain, or 'Commodore' even – one must not forget that this sailor was still horror-stricken, so he might have exaggerated – but he stated to have never seen a man more thirsty for blood than that pirate leader. If there wasn't a lady present, I could tell you stories –"

He cast Elizabeth a disapproving glance, but this time, she could not defy it; she was shuddering in fact, and not keen at all to hear more of that!

Captain Filister shook his head, "But that's the usual stories, Admiral – they get entered by pirates, and afterwards, they _all_ claim that it must have been the devil himself!"

"Well, there are such and such, Captain! There are pirates who attack a ship, rob the shipment and leave back the survivors. Others, like this infamous Jack Sparrow, are more specialised on – I would call it fraud, perhaps – few casualties, if any. And every once in a while, there's a bloody slaughterer who takes pleasure in mutilating his victims before he kills them anyway – excuse me, Miss Swann – until the very last one of them! I thought you would know that!"

Gillette made a disgusted face and Captain Filister bit his lips, nodding. Elizabeth knew that he was thinking of his great battle against Captain Black, who had been infamous for his particular cruelty, too, and after which the unhappy Captain had learnt that his beloved fiancée had died during his absence. Poor man!

The Commodore asked the Admiral to tell him more about this fleet of pirates, that one consented and checking himself, said with a wry smirk, "Gentlemen, I think this is all for the moment. I dare say you take great interest in your new vessels, so I'd suggest taking a closer look at them." He looked at the Commodore and added softly, "Let us talk about those pirates later."

The officers saluted and were dismissed, heading for the harbour, and Elizabeth left her yet stunned father and hurried after Commodore Norrington, who had walked away without another look at her.

"Commodore," she murmured when catching up with him, "can I have a word with you?"

"Later, Miss Swann," he replied just as quietly, still avoiding to look at her and marching quickly. She understood and stayed behind, slowly turning around and trotting back to her father. She was torn between disbelief, relief, gratitude and utter horror. Had it been the same man, who had attacked these ships, who had also sunk the Dauntless? Good Lord! Had the storm after all saved the crew from a fate even more gruesome? Had James been _lucky_ that things had come like that? And thinking of him – why had he lied? And was this all now, or would the Admiral just wait until he punished him? She had a thousand questions but no answers and was impatient to talk to him. Later – what did that mean? Later – he must return to the Van Dykes as soon as he could! It could impossibly do him good to stroll around longer than absolutely necessary, here in the boiling sun. It was noon by now, and there he stood in the harbour, inspecting some silly boat! Instead of a wig and a hat, he should have had a cold compress on his head, and nothing else!

"Darling," the Governor groaned and touched his forehead with his handkerchief. "I think we should go home for lunch, don't you think?"

"I'm not hungry, father, but you should go home at any rate! I guess I will take a look at these new ships as well."

"But it's much too hot, my dear! One can easily get a sunstroke now!"

Exactly, she thought grimly and went back the same way that she had come. The sun was reflected by the surface of the water, hurting the eyes, and making it nearly impossible to distinguish much. There were three ships, one resembling the Interceptor; it was called Falcon and Elizabeth nearly ran into Lieutenant Gillette, having not seen him. He stared at the ship in awe, and she thought that she had rarely seen him so happy.

Next to the Falcon was a medium-sized vessel, likely to be Captain Filister's substitute for the Fortuna – wittily labelled 'Fortuna II', and a great six-mast ship, the Challenger. She couldn't but admit that she was very majestic and beautiful, made of dark wood and with golden trimmings. She looked just as solid as the Dauntless had, though a little more elegant, slenderer, lighter, but these were no qualities that Elizabeth estimated highly. This would be James' new ship, if everything turned out lucky, and all Elizabeth Swann cared for was how safe his ship was. According to her experience, a ship was the more vulnerable the more elegant it was, which rendered her to be very suspicious about the Challenger now.

"Elizabeth!"

She turned around, surprised to see Will who had come for the ships as well, obviously admiring them. He quietly asked her how it had been with the Admiral, and looking over her shoulder to make sure nobody could overhear them, she whispered, "Excellent, I hope! So far, Admiral Thompson hasn't done or said anything, and you should have seen the Commodore!"

He smiled. "I suppose that means that I'm not hanged within the next fortnight?"

"Oh no, _you_ are safe anyway, for being such a good Christian." She chuckled lowly, receiving an nonplussed glance.

"Excuse me?"

"The Commodore –" She spoke even more quietly, so he had to bow over to hear her. "If there's ever been a sailor spinning his yarn, it must be him! He saved your neck, mine, my father's, and even his own, I hope – it was incredible, _incredible_, I tell you!"

"But the others –"

"That's the most amazing thing! He did not exactly _lie_, so nobody... I'll tell you later."

She saw Captain Filister approaching them and gave him a brilliant smile. Will saw it well and seized the newcomer with a mistrustful look, but this one didn't seem to take notice. Instead he cried, "Miss Swann, Mr Turner! I'm glad to see that it's not only old sailors who take interest in good ships – makes me hope for my sanity, you know? How do you like them?"

Will mustered a civil bow. "They're very impressive, Sir. I suppose the Fortuna II will be yours then?"

"Oh yes, and I already love her very well! I'm not like your Commodore mourning for his Dauntless – I'll sail on any ship!"

"The Commodore is very loyal," Elizabeth said earnestly, and he grinned.

"Yes, I got the same impression today, Miss!"

Elizabeth understood what he was playing at and cried deliberately lightly, "But the Dauntless was his first ship, and a very fine one. It isn't replaced easily!"

"A ship is a ship, Miss Swann, it's planks and sails and rigging. One is as good as the other, for all I care – a vessel to reach one's destination. One shouldn't be sentimental about it, as I keep telling the Commodore!"

She couldn't say why, but she was vexed with his answer and said, "No, sentimentality isn't in your nature, Captain, is it?"

"Hardly so, I prefer to look forwards! What about you, Mr Turner – when will you join our merry ranks?"

Will hesitated, and Elizabeth said quickly, "Hopefully not at all, Sir! All I've heard today makes it even less desirable to be a sailor's wife!"

"You sound like your good friend Miss Van Dyke. But let me assure you – no woman can resist a flashy uniform on the long run!"

"According to my experience, most men look far better without one!"

"What experience would that be, Miss Swann?" He sniggered. "No, no, I must defend my mates and me. Mr Turner, if your fiancée should ever make up her mind – you're very welcome! I've heard you were as good a sailor as a sword fighter, there's always need for men like that. But excuse me now, I have to return to my lot – all in uniforms!"

He went away, still chuckling, and Will murmured, "Elizabeth, think about it, please!"

"Oh, stop it!" she cried, unsure why she felt so angry, and remembering why she had come in the first place. She looked around, shielding her eyes against the sun, but the Commodore was nowhere to be seen. Had he finally listened to reason and returned to the shadows?

Will had witnessed the conversation in uneasiness; the Captain was charming, he had to admit that. His confession of a jocular temper wouldn't harm him with Elizabeth either, who often mocked Will himself for being too earnest. Not at all had he perceived the dissonance; he had been far too busy to admire the Captain's indeed flashy uniform, but now that she was apparently annoyed with him, he blamed it all on the Captain's appearance. This one was good-humoured, rich, successful _and_ dashing in his uniforms – how should Elizabeth not be impressed by him?


	13. Conjectures

**Conjectures**

Commodore Norrington was still smirking to himself when he had returned to the Van Dykes and was lying in his bed again. Although his skull seemed fit to burst, he couldn't but be amused, endeared even, by Elizabeth's fierce gratitude, almost driving away the pain. As soon as she had found him on his own, she had nearly jumped at him, hugging him tightly and repeating a dozen times, "Thank you! Oh, James! You were _marvellous_!"

He had denied that, and not only for modesty. Personally, he wasn't any proud of himself for what he had done today; to lie brazenly into his superior's – or anybody's – face wasn't like him. And he hadn't only done so to do Elizabeth a favour, more coincidentally so. For if the Admiral had found that Will Turner was after all _no_ civilian, but a pirate – and after commandeering a Navy vessel, sailing out with other pirates and prevent the execution of one, he could well be suspected to be a pirate himself – in this case, the Governor's jurisdiction would have become powerless, and Mr Turner would have been handed over to the naval arm of justice. Which would get him hanged. Which would make Elizabeth devastated with mourning. And that must be prevented by all means.

Another man but the Commodore might have found it a good thing to see the man hanging who was to marry their own former fiancée, calculating that the young girl might in time change her mind. But such a man wouldn't have known Elizabeth; she would rather die an old maiden than marry him after Will Turner's execution. James knew her, and what was more: he wasn't the person for any such scheming either. He had always been straight forward, it shamed him to have lied today, but it would be the only time for the rest of his life, to be sure. But to see Elizabeth fading away with grief – and in this one respect, his conduct had been nothing but selfish indeed – no, he wouldn't endure to see it.

He found it a little intriguing to be praised with such fervour for his unexpected capacities of deceiving others; she had been delighted, crying, "Splendid! You should have seen yourself! Absolutely fabulous!"

They had got off very lightly; the Admiral had been so bewildered with a pirate crew of skeletons that he seemed more inclined to forgive the loss of two ships and a pirate than he would otherwise have tolerated. Gillette was sulking; James wasn't fooled about that. He had expected a promotion for himself, a degradation of the Commodore, and could not understand his own bad luck, feeling very ill-used, like always.

Elizabeth had never liked the Commodore's stiffness, as he had well known, but which also seemed so natural a part of him that he wouldn't have known how to strip it off, not even for her sake. He wondered whether she was aware that it was just his notorious reputation for being stiff that had saved her dear Will's neck from the rope? The whole story had been so unbelievable that he couldn't grasp himself how he had ever come away with it. It had been only the fact that _he_ had told it, for the word 'sincere' seemed to be written all over his forehead somehow. But as long as the Admiral was still present and Gillette in a bad mood, it could all blow up yet. Gillette couldn't claim that James had lied, not that, but it wouldn't take much to point out the huge holes in the story either, and when the Admiral took a closer look… Better not think about it.

Well, now she was there, the Challenger, his new ship. She was indeed beautiful, a very good ship as far as he had seen – but she wasn't the Dauntless, and he couldn't care less about any golden trimming. Whoever it had been that had sunk the Dauntless would pay for that, and also in this respect, he was most satisfied with the Admiral's visit. At least some clue, finally! He could hardly wait for his full recovery, to be able to sail out and get those villains – not in vain, he was said to be the 'scourge of piracy' in the Eastern Caribbean. He had fought and won more battles than any other soldier of his age. He _would_ find them, and he wasn't the least afraid of the next encounter. It was more than unlikely that this should also take place in the middle of a gigantic storm, and without the storm, they shouldn't have dared to mess with the Dauntless! He found that he owed his fame to his ship; it had been her power, her stability, her reliability enabling him to leave every battle as the winner.

Would the Challenger be only half as glorious? Golden trimmings! He sneered with the recollection of the trite effects of his new ship. Well, no matter what, when he found these scoundrels, he would get them, and if he died in pursuit of this aim. He wasn't scared of the pirate 'Commodore', as black as he might ever be painted. According to Admiral Thompson, he had forced some of his victims to cut off their own noses or ears and had made them eat their own flesh then. Others, he had hanged with the intestines of their dead comrades. He let himself be called 'Commodore Nero' and in that tradition, he had jumped on the Dutch Captain and stamped him to death.

Well, he was only a man, he could be killed like a man. The same was true for Commodore Norrington, all right, but this one found that he hadn't got anything else to lose than his life. He had lost everything that he loved already, only his life and honour had remained – if it cost his life to keep his honour and avenge the Dauntless, so it was to be.

Elizabeth couldn't know about the Commodore's musing, fortunately, as it would have scared _her_ out of her wits. She was still thrilled with this day's events and relief. And she couldn't have been any prouder with dearest James – he had been fantastic, hadn't he? He had been slightly disturbed when she had congratulated him for being such a good liar – well, she should have chosen her words more carefully, of course, but nevertheless, it was true! She would never have thought him capable of it! Even though she had always been fully aware of his magnanimity, she was endlessly impressed with it now. He alone had kept Will from the gallows! That terrible Admiral, that had treated even her father like some insignificant stand-by, oh how she had wanted to scratch his eyes out! But James had stood up to him, he had; he hadn't been intimidated by the Admiral's scorn and conceit! Who did this Admiral Thompson think he was, anyway?!

Her father laughed about her exuberance. "My dearest Elizabeth! You needn't tell _me_ about the Commodore! _I_ know about his qualities very well!"

"We're forever indebted to him! I shall name my first son James – do you think he would approve of that?"

"I don't know how the Commodore would think about it, dear, but I suppose your _husband_ could disapprove!"

"Nonsense! After all, it's _his_ neck that's been saved here!"

"Furthermore I guess that you needn't worry about the name of your first son, my darling, so far, you're not even _married_, and the way it looks, you have another decade to contemplate your future children's names!"

She stopped and gave him a grave look, knowing that he was just too right to even argue about it. Even if Will was to find a gold treasure on some godforsaken island, it would take two years until he was of age at least. Two years! And until that – oh well!

"Father," she said a bit calmer, "Don't spoil it, will you? I'm having a ball here! _This_ is a _great_ day, _James_ has been _fantastic_, and just think of it – he's ill yet! How well he behaved!"

"Speaking of good behaviour, my dear – do you think it proper to call the Commodore by his first name?"

"I don't say it to his face," she murmured with a soft blush, remembering all the occasions that rendered this statement a white lie. Her father shook his head, but smiled. His dearest girl lacked some proper manners; perhaps this was because she hadn't had a mother to look up to. For Mary had been just as high-spirited and vigorous as her daughter, but her manners had been impeccable still; his beloved Mary hadn't been inconsiderate or rash at all. Quick, yes, just like Elisabeth was, but never so unguarded.

He indeed knew full well that the Commodore had been more than just a gentleman today. He _was_ impressed. This fine man could have been his son-in-law, and he still had to sigh when thinking of it. He had accustomed to Will Turner, he was a kind and amiable boy, yes. But the Commodore had been a _man_, excellent in every aspect! Well, the Governor still hadn't given up his last hope that Elizabeth might become attached to the Captain at least. This one wasn't quite as genteel as Commodore Norrington, admittedly, but Governor Swann wouldn't fret about that. He was worried; Elizabeth needed somebody she could look up to, somebody with sense and respectability, somebody who wasn't ruled by her own follies. And this was just the problem with the Turner boy – he was as young as her, he submitted himself to any of her moods, he had no influence on her whatsoever.

This entire engagement had made her even more unbalanced; she was moody and quick-tempered, and for some mysterious reasons, she was still cross with her friend Henrietta, which was most regrettable. Miss Van Dyke had corrected many of Elizabeth's little flimsies, without making much ado, and Elizabeth had trusted her superior understanding. She also quarrelled with her fiancé, she was unsatisfied with _this_, and impatient about _that_ – maybe the Governor should have been content with this, but he wasn't. In his eyes, this only seemed to prove that his daughter was going a dangerous way, and he couldn't say where it was to end.

In the fort, Admiral Thompson spent the evening with Captain Filister and Lieutenant Gillette. But while the first two were eagerly chatting about the weird business of this curse, Lieutenant Gillette was getting exceedingly unsatisfied; _he_ had seen these skeletons, the topic was absolutely uninteresting from his perspective. Additionally, he felt outcast by the others, who knew each other of old and had, apart from Captain Barbossa's cursed pirates, a whole lot of mutual friends to discuss.

Frankly, he had expected more of the Admiral, he was perplexed with his Commodore, disappointed with his cousin – it was all just too vexing! Without particularly relating to anything the others were talking about, he suddenly muttered, "Admiral, has it occurred to you that the Commodore might be in league with these pirates?"

The Captain and the Admiral stared at him, and the latter asked, "Beg your pardon, Lieutenant?"

Gillette put up what he meant to be a superior smile. "Think about it! Jack Sparrow escaping, losing the Dauntless, and some miraculous rescue from a godforsaken island – doesn't this smell a bit fishy?"

Filister rolled his eyes, and the Admiral asked, irritated, "You accuse Commodore Norrington of collaborating with that Jack Sparrow? And what has this got to do with the Dauntless?"

"Perhaps it was Sparrow who attacked the Dauntless? Or – right! Perhaps it hasn't really sunk, but he gave it to Sparrow! As a reward for something!"

"Henry!"

"Are you drunk, Lieutenant?"

"Honestly, Henry, just think what you're saying," the Captain said, somewhat repelled.

"But why? It makes perfect sense! And afterwards, they've thought of the excuse with the Dutch merchant vessels!" Gillette had warmed up, totally ignoring his cousin's mimicking at him to shut up, or the Admiral's rising anger.

"Lieutenant Gillette! I believe we already discussed that matter exhaustingly! Did you listen to me this morning? I have found only _two_ sources telling me about those pirates in the whole Caribbean, and believe me, I have put lots of effort into my investigations! I dare say I am the first British officer to have brought a _little_ light in this. How would the Commodore have known about them, eh?"

"Well, Sparrow's a pirate, too, so maybe _he_ has heard about them, and told Norrington –"

"_Commodore_ Norrington, Lieutenant! And then, just as an alibi, the Commodore let himself be hit over the head with a plank that almost got him killed? And take two minor Sergeants with him?"

"Oh well –"

"Serving under Commodore Norrington for so long, I would have expected _you_ to know about his achievements better than anyone! Do you have any idea how many pirates he has captured?! Accusing him of playing one of theirs' game – _ridiculous_!"

"I assure you," Captain Filister tried to calm the Admiral, shooting Gillette a filthy glance. "_Nobody_ wants to accuse the good Commodore of _any_ compliance, Lieutenant Gillette gets a bit carried away here –"

"I'm _not_," Gillette retorted stubbornly, "and more, I'm still not convinced that it's not Sparrow after all leading this bunch in disguise, that sailor you've talked to might have erred about the exact time –"

Captain Filister gestured quite rudely at him, but the Admiral only laughed contemptuously. "Sparrow! Didn't you meet that man yourself, Gillette?! He's no butcher, and I must know, after all he sacked Nassau Port without firing a single shot five years ago! Sparrow is a crook, somebody who'd try to sell you a blade that he's stolen from you yesterday! And he's proud, not to say vain, he wants his name to be known – this pirate would never use another name but his own! This Spanish sailor did not _err_ in his story, I've made sure about that! The 'Isabella', said Spanish gold frigate – left Mérida on the First of July, calculate yourself how long it may have taken them to reach San Antonio!"

"Sir, with all due respect – you really don't find it odd that it should be that Jack Sparrow fishing the Commodore out of the water after the loss of the Dauntless, after she had tried to find him for twelve weeks without any success?!" Gillette had lowered his voice a little, but he was determined to make the Admiral see his point. He was exasperated with everyone's praise for Norrington, who was in his eyes a bit of an idiot, and he couldn't see why he received no help whatsoever from his cousin, he had meant that _he_ should help him at least!

"I don't find this half as odd as you, obviously! As I've said – Sparrow is a sly dog, if he doesn't want to be found, he won't be! I sent half of the fleet after him after he raided Nassau, to find me this man, and they all came back without a single trace! But what he is, too, is a sort of sportsman – he would want to beat the Commodore on his own grounds, not by letting him die shipwrecked. The only thing proven by this coincidence is that Commodore Norrington had a good nose to look for him in this part of the sea, and that he got pretty close before the Dauntless was destroyed!"

"You're too gullible, Admiral!"

"Come on, Henry, the next thing you accuse him of is being an agent for the Spanish crown, eh?" Filister sniggered, pouring some more booze for them all.

"With all due respect, Sir, but please consider that you might have been mistaken in the nature of your officers! Commodore Norrington, for an instance –"

"Henry, I _really_ think you should go to bed," Captain Filister said with a strained voice, "It's been a long, hard day, and you're clearly exhausted with it. Go _now_, before you say more things that you will regret in the morning!"

He had got up and dragged the struggling Gillette away, mumbling, "Excuse me for five minutes, Sir!"

When he returned, he smiled wryly, "Excuse me once again, Admiral. I don't know what's got into him. Maybe he's a little frustrated, I believe he hoped to receive a promotion."

Admiral Thompson snorted, "A promotion! What for? And by slandering Commodore Norrington of all persons?! That man is as solid as iron! _Why_ should _he_ fraternise with a pirate?! He's a made man, how many Commodores have you come across being only thirty-one? He's rich, he's as high-ranked as one could be in his age – _I_ was a Captain yet with thirty-two! – and most of all, he's as uptight as a nun, for heaven's sake! That man couldn't be converted if you offered him all the gold of the Spanish crown!"

"I know, Sir, I know. I mean, I don't know him too well, personally, but everything I've heard about him – apparently, the people here regard him as some sort of saint."

"And righteously so! Do you know what kind of place this was ten years ago? The Governor is a dim-wit, typical for his profession. Puffing himself up as if he was still holding court in his old-English estate, I'm afraid he hasn't even got a clue that this is the new world here!"

"Like Governor Foster," Filister exclaimed and grinned roguishly, speaking of the Governor of Nassau. He despised Governor Foster just as much as Admiral Thompson did – yes, he knew the Admiral of old, and knew how to steer the conversation into more shallow waters.

"_Exactly_ like Governor Foster!" Thompson cried satisfied. "Have I told you about his latest ideas concerning…"

Around the same time, Commodore Norrington sat together with his friend Chandler, who had come to the Van Dykes in the evening. They discussed the new ships – the Commodore found his scorn about the golden trimmings shared by Chandler – but mostly, they spoke of 'Commodore Nero' and his darned fleet.

"One would think that somebody must have heard of them!"

"Not if there are never any survivors, Sir! Many ships just vanish and nobody ever hears of them again, they might enter in a storm, or be destroyed by pirates, and if they are – who can say who's done it afterwards?"

"Yes, yes, I know, but – he must get a crew somewhere… Has Sparrow said anything about it, perhaps? I bet he knows every shady tavern in the whole Caribbean!"

"I hardly talked to him, Sir. I was mostly in the cabin, with you."

"How often did I tell you, Robert? You needn't call me 'Sir' when we're among ourselves. So what about those Sergeants? What did _they_ do?"

"Oh, they surely talked a lot to the crew, I think, but they are – well, they aren't very bright, are they? Most of the time, they let this Mr Gibbs tell them ghost stories. Do you remember Mr Gibbs?"

"Gibbs, Gibbs – rings a bell with me…"

"He signed on the Dauntless some years ago. Weird fellow, superstitious to the bone, and usually drunk!"

"Oh! Yes, _now_ I know who you mean! Mr Gibbs, of course! He has signed on with Captain Sparrow? Well, what did I expect, anyway!"

"Damn good sailor," Chandler mused with a little smile, "but he clearly had some difficulties with authority!"

"And with liquor, Chandler, I think that was his major problem! So, Mr Gibbs talked to our Sergeants, did he? He always used to talk _a lot_, if I remember correctly. I wonder what he might have told them?"

Chandler blushed self-consciously. "I did not ask them. I've thought it to be insignificant."

"Can't blame you. But I shall like to have a word with them, as soon as possible. If only Miss Swann doesn't hear that I've left my bed again." He smiled softly. "She'd scold me back into it at once!"

"Miss Swann! Who is _she_ to tell you off!" Chandler snarled, like always vexed with the Governor's daughter.

"Ah, leave her alone, Robert. She's a bit over-protective lately, that's all."

"_Now_ she cares how you are doing! Silly little girl! Serves her right to have a bad conscience!"

"Nah, don't speak of her like that. She's fine just like she is, a bit fierce sometimes, though I'm sure that will settle sooner or later. Her engagement to Mr Turner seems to do her quite well already."

Chandler raised his brows. "You think so?"

"Yes, indeed." James tried to make a calm face, keen not to betray how this particular subject still stirred him as much as ever. "She was always quite, well – reserved maybe, but lately, she's loosened up remarkably –"

"Should have stuck to her reserve, if you ask me! After all I've heard – she's terrible to Miss Van Dyke, for example, and the poor Miss doesn't even know the reason!"

James looked thoughtful. "Yes, I've observed _that_. I even asked her about it, but she wouldn't tell me anything about it. Who knows what young ladies do quarrel about? She will relax again, I'm sure."

"You are too indulgent with her, James, if you allow me to say so!"

"No, I don't actually." But he smirked nevertheless, if ever so wryly. "Besides, I have no reason to be severe with her. She behaves very well against me."

"She better does!" Chandler muttered indignantly, and pulled himself together. "So what about – Miss Van Dyke?"

"Miss Van Dyke? Oh! Oh, I remember! You want me to marry Miss Van Dyke, don't you?"

Chandler evaded the question and murmured, "She is a very fine lady, Sir, I just thought…"

"I can't argue with that, Robert. But I'd beg you to leave me some time to think about all this, will you? It's not _so_ long ago that I asked the last young lady to marry me, I don't think it was proper to ask the next one so soon!"

"But you _will_ ask her?"

The Commodore laughed. "Heavens, you're really determined to find me a wife, are you? I thank you for your efforts, but I really think I will manage on my own!"

"Of course, Sir," Chandler looked away in embarrassment, not happy with these answers at all. He wished the Commodore would plainly say whether he was about to propose to Miss Van Dyke or not, it would have saved his friend a good deal of disquieted nights!


	14. Hung Up

* * *

**Hung Up**

* * *

The morning was as warm as every other in this part of the world, and peaceful. Port Royal had settled to be a rather sleepy town in the last years, the presence of a whole fort of soldiers kept scoundrels away and let the citizens attend to their daily business unconcerned. This peace however was disturbed at eight o'clock, when Sergeant Christopher McKenzie gave a shrill scream and by this raised his fellow officers' attention –

"Mary mother of Jesus, the Lord bless us all!"

At five past eight, Lieutenant Robert Chandler entered Lieutenant Gillette's room and stopped dead in his tracks with what he saw, crossing himself and ordering some of his men to inform the Admiral, Captain Filister and the Commodore – for Lieutenant Gillette was dead, dangling from a rope in his room. He wore his uniform, his wig even, that had slipped sideways a bit, without doubt due to the throes of death. Lieutenant Chandler swallowed hard with the sight and shook his head.

In general, the shock was much greater than the grief; the Lieutenant hadn't been very popular. Only few understood why on earth he should have killed himself in the first place, among those Admiral Thompson; more annoyed than affected, he murmured harshly, "That fool!"

Commodore Norrington, leaving his sickbed once again, was a bit more delicate, and genuinely dismayed. Had Gillette really been so desperate for a promotion? He found it excessively tragic that a man's ambition should overcome his common sense in such a tragic fashion, and he felt a sting of guilt himself. He had always been firm in his unwillingness to assist Gillette making his way up; he had found him unpleasant and rather useless, scolding himself now for this, perhaps premature and biased, judgement. To hang oneself – for the lack of a Captain's title?! That wasn't worth it! James Norrington himself was a grieved man, but never in his life, he had contemplated any such possibility for himself, God beware.

The only person in Port Royal whose reaction wasn't one of shock but of gloom was Captain Filister. He looked at his cousin's corpse that had been untied by now and was lying on the bed, in something like resigned sadness and he muttered quietly, "Oh, Henry… I had hoped it would take a better end with you –"

The Commodore arrived, paler than anyway, staring at the dead boy like everybody before him, and ordering to bring him away and make him ready for the funeral. If nothing else had been specified, sailors were usually given a funeral at sea, which would also spare an awkward discussion with Reverend Martin, who was sure to object burying him within the churchyard. Suicides were denied to lie in consecrated grounds. God bless his soul nevertheless.

When the Admiral, Commodore Norrington, Captain Filister and Lieutenant Chandler were alone, the Admiral vented his anger quite verbosely, "This damned idiot! Is't possible?! He wasn't in good shape, admittedly, and I had the distinct impression that he didn't know his own good, but –"

He exchanged a look with the Captain, who muttered glumly, "It's all my fault, I shouldn't have left him alone yesterday…"

"Nonsense!" the Admiral cried. "You couldn't have anticipated _that_, Captain! Granted, he made a fool of himself, but that's no reason to sin against the Lord! If he was ready to do himself, why didn't he wait for a battle at least and mustered some bravery for a good cause?!"

The Commodore had observed this little exchange and now asked quietly what they were referring to. Filister waved dismissively. "Nothing, nothing. He had a glass too much yesterday, that's all –"

Admiral Thompson had less tact, and sneering with the recollection of the last evening, informed Norrington and Chandler about it. The former smirked sadly, while the latter seemed to battle with himself not to speak badly about the dead, and the Admiral finished, "Don't aggravate yourself, Commodore, it's not worth it!"

It were always the servants who first heard about things; Mrs Peacock, the Governor's cook had heard it on the market, she had told the story to every other servant in the house, and by ten o'clock, Estella, Miss Swann's chambermaid, passed it on to her mistress.

Elizabeth clasped her mouth, her eyes wide, and whispered, "Good Lord! Gillette?! And yesterday morning, he still seemed so fond of his new ship!"

She hadn't liked the Lieutenant, she had avoided to talk to him if she had had the chance, but this did not mean that she had wished him bad. Indeed, she wouldn't have begrudged him to sail with the Falcon at least once, he surely would have enjoyed it; perhaps it would have been enough to keep him from doing something so desperate…

Poor James! Certainly, he had been forced out of his bed once again to take care of everything; how should he ever get better like this?! How pale he had been yesterday, he must be even worse now! This was going to wear him out completely!

The lady who was principally watching over the Commodore's state of health might have been equally worried, but in any case, she found that it was not her place to interfere with his decisions. She could also understand that his presence in the fort was imperative on a day like this; and finally, she thought that he was a grown man, he would know what was good for him, and what was necessary. She had of course heard what had happened in the night, when an overtaxed Sergeant had appeared this morning to inform his Commodore. She was bewildered, she was sad for the Lieutenant, but most of all, she was intrigued.

This was all very strange, wasn't it? Like Miss Swann, she wondered why he had done this just now. If he had hoped for a promotion – the Admiral was to stay two more days, perhaps he would still have made up his mind? And even if Gillette had not been made a Captain this time around – he still would have captained the Falcon, wouldn't he? The only other officer who would have been fit for it was Lieutenant Chandler, who was to sail with Commodore Norrington anyway for the time being. He was younger than Gillette had been, and had more than once expressed his wish to stay with the Commodore. She hadn't yet heard about the little row between Lieutenant Gillette and Admiral Thompson, and even when she at last heard about it, she saw no sufficient foundation in it to end one's life. Lieutenant Chandler had paid the Commodore a visit in the evening and after this one had lain down, she sat with the Lieutenant in the parlour and talked.

When she heard about Gillette's outburst, she arched a brow. "Now that's vile, isn't it?"

"It is," snorted her visitor, "I wouldn't have imagined how far that man would have gone just to reach his aims!"

"I wonder what made him come up with such a story," the lady said thoughtfully.

"Well, that's obvious, isn't it? He wanted to slander the Commodore to become Head of the fort!"

"Yes, I imagine that, but – it's such a weird idea! Not only to accuse Commodore Norrington of all people, but the whole scenario to begin with!"

"I hadn't meant him to possess a very vivid imagination either, but I've clearly been wrong!" Chandler took it very personal to see the Commodore abused so slanderously. He himself had the highest regard for his superior and would have defended the man's honour anytime, just like he had swum three naval miles with him on his back.

"A vivid imagination, yes, perhaps. I shouldn't speak ill of a dead man, I know, but – he always struck me to be rather dull, no? If he had wanted to discredit Commodore Norrington, it would merely have taken some hints about Mr Sparrow's escape, right? I understood that the whole story wasn't very plausible –" She smiled slyly. "And all for the sake of Mr. Turner!"

They had spoken about the whole story the evening before, and Chandler was a little puzzled. "I don't think I get what you mean, Miss?"

"I mean that Lieutenant Gillette would have come further if he had stuck to facts, instead of inventing horror stories! That's another sign of being not particularly cunning, isn't it? And for a man so obviously lacking wits, his story _is_ remarkable! Think about it – a high-ranking officer, conspiring with some pirates to cut some deals, the idea that Mr Sparrow was disguising himself to be these pirates' leader – peculiar for a man who wasn't famous for being inventive. Why didn't he realise that he would make a fool of himself like that?"

"According to Captain Filister, he had drunk a few glasses too much!"

"But drunkards, as weird as they may ever be otherwise, become _more_, not less honest!"

"I still don't understand what you're trying to hint at, I'm afraid."

She shrugged and gave him a smile. "Nothing really. I'm simply amazed, I guess. But let us speak no more of these unpleasant things. When will Admiral Thompson leave us, then?"

"He will attend the funeral ceremonies tomorrow morning and leave in the afternoon."

"And the Captain?"

"The same, more or less, but the Fortuna will take a detour to Santo Domingo before returning to Nassau Port."

"And when are _you_ going to put to sea again?"

"Probably as soon as the Commodore's condition allows it, Miss. He is determined to capture those villains who destroyed the Dauntless."

For a second, Miss Van Dyke's eyes darkened, but in the next second she smiled again. "I see. I do hope that you return safely and soon, then!"

Chandler sighed inwardly; the fair Miss was worried for the Commodore… Understandable, of course, but it made him a little sad nevertheless. He was cross with himself for feeling so; what was wrong with him, after all? He, too, was worried for the Commodore's state of health, and didn't underestimate the threat posed by these unknown pirates. Why would it sting him so badly that the young lady felt the same?

In the next morning, the Challenger took her first official journey – if it could be called that – with its new Commander and crew. They didn't fare very far, and the Commodore held a short, but nonetheless solemn speech for the actual funeral. Then Lieutenant Gillette's remains were given to the sea, the Challenger returned to the harbour around noon, and after a last lunch, it was time to say farewell. The Captain wasn't quite as high-spirited as otherwise, but not too gloomy either – not even _he_ had liked his cousin too much, apparently. The Admiral was snappish and short-tempered as ever, briskly advising the Commodore to take better care of his new ships than he had of his old ones – Miss Swann wanted to jump at him for this remark, but Commodore Norrington mustered a smile and answered that he would, and in fifteen minutes, it was all over.

Governor Swann saw his only hope sail away, sighed and muttered, "He was such an exceedingly pleasant man, the Captain!"

"A bit too pleasant, don't you think?" returned his daughter in soft boredom, but her father mistook this comment entirely, and thought to himself that there might be a reunion with that 'too pleasant man' one day; he could only pray that it was before she had got married to the young craftsman.

Elizabeth didn't perceive any of her father's feelings on the subject, all her focus lay on the Commodore who was standing in full ornate on the dock, saluting, and she was concerned that all of this running about could only damage him. They walked back to the fort together, and she urged him to return to bed immediately, but he gave a little laugh and shook his head. "Oh, Miss Swann, I'm afraid I have to disappoint you! With the Captain gone, I will return to my duties, and that also means that I will stay here in the fort. No more leisure and compresses!"

"What? But –" She didn't know whether she was more pleased or shocked. Return to the fort meant leaving the Van Dykes, which could only be good considering Henrietta's scheming, but exchanging his rest for his duties was most alarming indeed! "But you must be careful, James! Promise you'll take care of yourself! You mustn't risk anything! I'm sure, good Lieutenant Chandler can represent you some days more!"

He chuckled. "I'm sure he can. But you needn't worry; I assure you I'm doing much better already. How could I not be, after so much good care?"

He meant her own nursing and advice, but she could only think of Henrietta, feeling mortified, and was very quick to change the topic. "So how did you like the Challenger? Is she as fine as the Dauntless?"

"She's a very good ship, without doubt. But it's hard to say, I have to accustom to her yet."

"The Dauntless was a splendid ship. She'll be hard to match!"

He was pleased to hear such words of compassion. "Very true! Nevertheless, she's lost forever, so I _have_ to accustom to the Challenger anyway, whether I like it or not."

Elizabeth bit her lip, clueless why she bothered at all, while Commodore Norrington was torn between wistful memories of his beloved, lost ship and the notion how gratified he was in fact that his other lost love was at least still around him. That she was his friend – he had meant that he would not endure it, but he had to see that he couldn't have done without her either.

It was all very confusing. For many years, he had admired her, and they had been on good terms, as good as the family of a provincial town's Governor would get along with the Head of the belonging fort. They had conversed civilly, had danced together when there was a ball, and seen each other frequently. But all the time, Elizabeth had been rather aloof, friendly, kind, but never anything like liberal. Their short engagement hadn't changed anything about this – they hadn't even kissed. Not that he hadn't wanted to kiss her – but then, he hadn't seen anything like encouragement on her part for such a bold move.

But ever since his injury, ever since he had opened his eyes again in her father's house, Elizabeth didn't seem to be the old one. She had loosened up, in a manner of speaking; she talked to him as if they were the best of friends, she confided in him, she smirked and laughed and joked. He terribly enjoyed this change within her, he relished her company above all other – and he was angry with himself because of this weakness. He knew that he had to get her out of his head. Just that her new attitude made it even more difficult for him to do so. She had been sweet and amiable before, but nowadays, she was simply stupendous, she overwhelmed him so completely that he didn't know how to help himself when she was around him.


	15. The Sergeants' Story

* * *

**The Sergeant****s' Story**

* * *

"Sergeant Murtogg, Sergeant Mullroy – I have some questions that I hope you can answer!"

The two officers felt exceedingly uneasy about the situation on the whole. To be called to the Head of the fort and his deputy could mean nothing good, but as hard as they racked their brains, they couldn't think of anything they had done wrong lately! So they just tried to appear as servile as they could, in fact they looked like two donkeys in lightning. Commodore Norrington was aware of the intimidating effect and, as far as _he_ was concerned, did his best to appear friendly and inviting, but this frightened the officers only more. They couldn't remember to have seen the Commodore smile ever before; what could he mean by it, was this the calm before the storm… In short – it was hopeless.

The Commodore exchanged a few looks with Lieutenant Chandler, so the latter addressed them, "Sirs, what we would like to know is – on the time on board of the Black Pearl – have you talked to Captain Sparrow or any other of his men?"

"No, Sir!" both replied with arrow speed, provoking their superiors to groan.

"Let us begin anew," the Commodore sighed. "Firstly, let me assure you that you are _not_ here because of any accusation or whatever else you obviously believe to be the reason. So whatever you say will _not_ be the foundation for any punishment or reprimand whatsoever. Have you understood that?"

It was always right to nod and say 'Aye, Sir' when a superior officer was speaking like that, but as a matter of fact, he had spoken too quickly and too marked, and he could have said the exact opposite, they would still have retorted, "Aye, Sir!"

"Very well. So in the entire ten days on the Black Pearl, you have _not_ spoken to any member of the crew?"

"Aye, Sir!"

They weren't getting anywhere like that, and it took all powers of persuasion which Commodore Norrington and Lieutenant Chandler could muster until the Sergeants finally confessed to have spoken 'a word or two' to the crew. These few words turned out to be enough to fill some books, and once the two men had begun talking, it was hard to make them stop again.

"Mr Murtogg," the Commodore groaned and tried hard not to roll his eyes, "mermaids aren't exactly what I was looking for. But what I wish to hear is this – has Mr Gibbs told you any story about a man styling himself as 'Commodore Nero'? Or any pirate unknown to him trying to pick up a crew?"

"Commodore Nero? Is he an English officer?"

"He's no officer by any rate, but apparently he is English. So did Mr Gibbs mention him?"

"Let me think…"

They could see it working in Sergeant Mullroy's face, and even more in his comrade's; James counted inwardly to ten to stay calm, a grin was frozen on his lips. Patience, he reminded himself, be patient. The Lieutenant was less successful and snapped, "Well, has he?!"

"No," Mullroy drawled, his eyes narrowed and clearly still thinking, "I think he's spoken of an English officer though."

"That's not the sort of tale we were looking for," Commodore Norrington moaned, but the Lieutenant looked attentively and made an encouraging gesture.

"Well, a guy who was _thought_ to be an English officer, more like," Mullroy mused loudly, "who would go looking for a crew."

"Yeah," his colleague grinned, recollecting, "Tried it in Tortuga, but no one quite trusted him –"

James was at a total loss what these two morons could possibly be talking about, but Chandler asked, "Pick up a crew? For what?"

"Well, what sort of people are in Tortuga, Sir – for a pirate ship of course!"

"And why do you say he was an officer?"

"Please, Commodore, it's not _me_ saying that! _I_ know that no English officer would go to Tortuga and – it was Mr Gibbs who said it."

"Wore no uniform either," Murtogg mumbled, "We've asked him about that."

"But why did Mr Gibbs think him to be an officer then?"

"Because of the way he spoke and moved, said he. Did you know, Mr Gibbs was in the Navy once, too?"

"Yes," the Commodore said wryly, "That would make another former English officer turn pirate then, I guess!"

"But Mr Gibbs was no officer, was he? _He_ doesn't sound like an officer, doesn't speak like it."

"And how _does_ an officer sound?"

"Like you, Sir. You know, well-spoken, and pronounced. Not like us. Somebody who's been in a good school!" Murtogg said ingenuously.

Chandler and the Commodore exchanged a quick glance, and the former asked, "_That's_ quite the story we were looking for, Mr Murtogg. Go on!"

"Not much to say about it, is there?"

He looked at his comrade, who shook his head, murmuring, "Just that, I would have forgotten already. Didn't believe it anyway – an English officer pick-"

"Did Mr Gibbs say when this was? Or how the man looked?" Chandler cut him short.

"Did he? Well, it was before Mr Gibbs signed on the Black Pearl, sure –"

"_Long_ before." Mullroy nodded. "Didn't he say it was before the great fire?"

"Right! _Directly_ before the great fire, that's what he said! And that, had he known what was to come with the town, he'd rather have signed on with the weird guy than stay!"

Commodore Norrington tried to remember when a great inferno had destroyed half of Tortuga, this must have happened perhaps eighteen months ago, but still, he couldn't see why Chandler seemed to take so much interest in this story. "Well, perhaps it was a Privateer? These are gentlemen as well, mostly, speaking proper English!"

"No, Sir. They don't _move_ like an officer."

To his greatest astonishment, it was neither Murtogg nor Mullroy, but Lieutenant Chandler who said that. The young officer looked very thoughtful, and catching his superior's curious glance, he went on, "There's a considerable difference in the movements. You can _see_ whether a man is a Navy officer or not, they walk very upright, very stiff, shoulders back and all this."

The sergeants nodded eagerly, and James took a deep breath. His minor ranks confirmed him to _walk_ stiff, Elizabeth found him to _be_ stiff – charming, wasn't it. Perhaps he should just get used to be a stiff old bore, after all.

Chandler asked some more questions, but the Sergeants couldn't answer to any of them, and were dismissed. After they had left, the Commodore shot his deputy some quizzical looks. "Since when do you fancy to hear some sailor's yarn, Robert?"

This one seemed to wake up from his musing, "Oh – because of something Miss Van Dyke said to me the other day…"

He waited for further explanations, but Chandler seemed deeply lost in thoughts, so they parted without further ado. The Commodore was disappointed; he had hoped that this investigation would be good for more, but then, what had he expected to come from two rather dull officers and a notorious drunkard like Mr Gibbs?

He took out the Naval Reports and started listing conscientiously all ships that had left some Caribbean harbour in the past twelve month and had failed to reach their destination, he continued with ships from the Spanish Main, made another list for reports of great storms, and when he was through, he compared his list with a map.

Meanwhile, the Lieutenant couldn't explain to himself why he was so excited; probably, the entire story was wholly unfounded, but… He was on to something, he felt it for sure, but wondering in the same moment if this was only a pathetic excuse to visit Miss Van Dyke once more. Whatever the true reason was, he went over to the Van Dykes, and the lovely Miss smiled brightly when he was announced. "Lieutenant Chandler! How pleasant to see you!" she welcomed him. "I had been afraid that we shouldn't meet again so soon, after the Commodore left us! How are you?"

He sat down with her, a bit awkward, but she did not appear to notice, listening attentively when he related the conversation with the two Sergeants to her. "After your words the other day, it somehow caught my attention," he finished lamely, anxious what she would say, or whether she would laugh at him. But she did nothing of that sort. Instead she asked casually, "Do you happen to know when it was exactly, this great fire in Tortuga?"

Yes, he had looked it up before coming and could proudly give her the date; in September, it was two years ago.

"Does it happen often that a high-ranking officer leaves service?"

He thought about it for a moment and shrugged then, "Not really, no… Not in this sense, anyhow. I couldn't think of one right now. Sometimes, when badly injured, they drop out and go back home to England. But in such a case, they can't _sail_ any longer for one reason or other, and are taken over by another ship then. Lieutenant Crawford, for example – you might remember him? He was blinded in battle and taken back to his family to care for him."

"Can they be expelled?"

"Yes, well, they _can_, but practically, that's very rare. To punish an officer for a minor errant, he gets degraded; if the nature of the crime is severe, he will be imprisoned or executed straight away."

"So what you basically say is that it's pretty unlikely for an English officer of rank to just drop out and find himself a new career, right?"

"Quite unlikely, yes."

"So – as long as they _are_ in service – do they have some, well, leisure time? I mean, enough time to sail to Tortuga for example, pick up a crew and pilfer a bit until returning home?" He couldn't suppress a laugh with the mere idea, and she returned it ingeniously. "Well, could they?"

"No, Miss, I honestly can't imagine it! Of course, as long as a ship is on sea, nobody at home can say for sure where they are exactly, or what they're doing, but sooner or later, they come home again. And then, they have to report about their absence. Such an officer as you describe here – he might try to lie to his superior, but he's still got a whole crew of officers and sailors who can tell whether he has lied or not. Picture the situation – nobody can just leave a ship for some days like that, so he would have to take them with him, and they would know what he's doing. No, no, it's impossible, I assure you!"

"Still there _is_ a report of such a man." She lifted her forefinger and gesticulated with it. "And if we acknowledge it for a minute to be a true report, we must think of a possibility how he manages to come to Tortuga and look for a crew of pirates, and what he could do with them then."

"I have no idea whatsoever, Miss!"

"Neither have I, I was only reminded of Lieutenant Gillette's strange stories, which have somehow led us to this point in the first place… Remind me, what exactly did he insinuate? That the Commodore was making some deals with pirates, right? With Captain Sparrow, to be precise, and that Captain Sparrow could be this mysterious pirate in disguise?"

He was shocked and gasped, "Miss Van Dyke, you don't seriously mean to say – I _assure_ you –"

"No, no! Heaven forbid!" She shook her head vigorously. "I do _not_ mean to say anything relating to Commodore Norrington himself! Do not get me wrong there! All I try is a concise recollection of what Lieutenant Gillette has said then, or what you know about it anyway. For whatever it was – in this night, the poor Lieutenant was so troubled that he ended up killing himself, so we must assume that his spirits were very shaken, don't you think?"

"You are very right, Miss Van Dyke, both with what you say about Gillette and his insinuations. But what do you make of it now?"

"Well, nothing actually, I come to no conclusion at all. Still it is exceedingly odd – Gillette accusing the Commodore to be in league with pirates, and from a very different quarter, we get a report of some nameless officer doing exactly that what Gillette tried to blame Commodore Norrington for. I'm absolutely sure that the Lieutenant merely tried to discredit the Commodore with the Admiral, but as you remember, I found it very curious how he should have come up with such a story. What, if there was a grain of truth in it? What, if Lieutenant Gillette told this story that is so hard to believe for any sensible person, because _he_ knew it to have happened in fact? Not with the Commodore, of course, whatever I say, never mistake me to speak of the Commodore. I _know_ he is a very good man!"

Chandler was pained to hear this just praise – yes, the pretty Miss Van Dyke admired the Commodore, and how could she not. They were destined for each other! He was so distraught by this melancholic reflection that he could hardly follow her conclusions, so he simply nodded and sighed.

She hesitated for a moment, her finger tipping against her lips. "Forgive me for uttering such a thought now, Lieutenant Chandler, but – could Lieutenant Gillette have done something like that? Could it have been _him_ who went into this tavern in Tortuga?"

He goggled at her, stunned by the remark, but gave it a good thought then. "No," he finally said. "For once, I should know if he had been around the area of Tortuga with the Interceptor. But more importantly – Mr Gibbs, who told the story in the first place, was a sailor on the Dauntless himself, some years ago. Mr Gibbs knows Lieutenant Gillette and would certainly have recognised him, with or without uniform. And if he _had_ recognised him, he would have told the Sergeants about it, don't you think?"

"True," she said slowly. "Now what about this… It _is_ a very strange coincidence, if you think about it, that a ship such as the Dauntless, said to be almost invincible, gets trapped by a storm _and_ encounters those hostile ships in the same night. And then, only shortly afterwards, the only survivors are rescued by the very ship that you set out to capture in the first place."

"It's strange indeed."

"I wonder… Please, pardon me for bothering you with my private dealings, but – since your return, I did wonder why – mmh – well, my old friend Miss Swann _is_ acting strange, and hearing all these accounts now, I ask myself whether Miss Swann might not think the same like me, and that… Well, that her strange behaviour is due to the fact that she feels guilty for – uh – helping Mr Sparrow escape, and then this one pays her back for her support by almost killing his persecutors –"

"Miss Van Dyke, if there is one thing I am truly sure of – and it is weird for me to say this in this particular case – but I am absolutely sure that Captain Sparrow has nothing to do with the destruction of the Dauntless. He was so close _because_ we had nearly tracked him down, and then he saw our fire. Look at it – all other arguments aside, it would make little sense that Captain Sparrow had conspired with some others to attack the Dauntless, and then, a little later, volunteers to save us and actually ship us back to Port Royal."

"Perhaps this was part of his overall plan – or – right. Or he thought that his might not be the only ship spotting your signal, and that he'd better be the one rescuing you, to disperse all possible suspicions against him!"

He laughed and shook his head. "Oh, as if it mattered. Why should he want to disperse any suspicions at all? He's got a death sentence pronounced upon himself, it could not get worse for him at any rate. Having said this, I should also mention that Admiral Thompson found a similar attack taking place close to San Antonio, while the Black Pearl was here, in Port Royal. Whatever else you accuse him of, _this_ couldn't have been his doing."

She tilted her pretty head. "Oh, yes, I see… Well, this is probably just me, trying to make sense of my friend Elizabeth's behaviour… I guess I'm seeing ghosts here and that's just all!"

"What a pity that we can no longer ask Lieutenant Gillette about it. I bet the Commodore would have loved to hear what he had got to say!"

"He'd simply have denied to know anything at all. He would have claimed that it had been nothing but a wretched idea coming to him out of thin air. Besides, just imagine, the Commodore inquiring for the slanders about himself! Gillette would have denied to have said anything at all, and that he must have been grossly mistaken!"

"He'd surely have. But he wasn't very apt, and even if my Commodore is too good himself to suspect others of crimes that he thinks to be impossible – I guess I would have seen whether he had lied or not. I do pride myself to have some knowledge of human nature!"

"Now have you?" she smiled gently, and he blushed. That had been very complacent to say!


	16. Chapter 16

"What do you mean? You 'set sail' – are you leaving again?!"

Elizabeth gaped at James Norrington in shock, and he nodded. Yes, in fact, this had been the reason for his visit, he had to inform the Governor about the departure of the Challenger, but secretly, he had also wanted to see that one's daughter once more.

She was appalled, "But – you're not entirely recovered, and – you _can't_!"

"Oh no, I'm fine, believe me. I've already talked to your father, everything is ready, I just wanted to say good-bye and farewell!"

"You want to haunt that fleet of pirates, right?" Her voice was getting shrill with horror. "With this Captain or Commodore or however he calls himself who – How can you do that?!"

"It is my profession to capture pirates, Miss Swann. We have a fairly good idea about the area where they usually search for their prey, and we will find them!"

She found no breath to answer, and what should she have said anyway that would keep him from this most terrible plan! She tried it nevertheless, whispering, "But – they're _dangerous_, they've sunk the Dauntless and – James, you mustn't do that, _please_!"

"They were lucky with the Dauntless, they won't be so lucky again!"

"_You_ were lucky to be still alive! Just imagine if they –" Her eyes were wide and her voice faltering. She wanted to cry that he must not go under any circumstances, that he must stay for _her_ sake, but just too well she remembered the last time when she had begged him to neglect his duties for her sake, and she swallowed hard.

He smiled softly, "Miss Swann, if my calculations are correct, this 'Commodore Black' has attacked and destroyed more than twenty ships in the past two years. Would you really want him to go on like that? I trust the Challenger to be as worthy as the Dauntless, and we shall vanquish them like they deserve, or –"

He bit his lip; he hadn't intended to frighten her, but to explain. Now that he saw her terrified look, he regretted every word he had uttered; she had nursed him in his darkest hours and must find him very ungrateful to risk his life. But in the end, it _was_ his job, even if it hadn't been for his own fervent wish to avenge the Dauntless, he still would have been forced to pursue them.

She made a last attempt, "But if these pirates are really so dangerous as you say, you can't leave the town alone then! What if they come here to pilfer Port Royal?"

"The Falcon will stay and with it Lieutenant Chandler. Don't worry! Besides, as far as we know, they've never before attacked a settlement."

If he had meant it would soften her fears to hear this, he had been thoroughly wrong. Lieutenant Chandler would not go with him?! The most loyal friend he had, the friend who had saved his life once before? She felt tears rising but forced them away, mouthing, "Very well then…"

He made a bow, and saw her reach out her hand, so he took it and kissed her fingertips, inwardly shaken with agitation. She pressed his hand tightly and whispered, "You must swear to come back, Commodore – James – please, do _swear_ it!"

"Do not make me give a vow that isn't in my power to keep, Miss Swann," he replied gravely, still bowing, still holding her hand.

"_Please_, James!"

Her tone was urgent; he felt overpowered with the situation and briskly straightened and stepped back, "Adieu, Miss Swann!"

"Don't say 'adieu' but 'au revoir'! And don't call me Miss Swann but Elizabeth!" she cried helplessly when he turned away, giving her a last smile.

"Good-bye then – Elizabeth!"

He was gone in the next moment, leaving her back in utter devastation. It must not be true, she closed her eyes, incapable to hold the tears back – it _mustn't_ be true! He _mustn't_ risk his life, somewhere out on the ocean, facing a most cruel danger – he had said himself that he wasn't accustomed to his new ship yet – how could he throw himself into battle in a situation like this?! The Dauntless had been said to be invincible, yet it had been sunk to the bottom of the ocean! So what about the Challenger? She couldn't say why, but she strongly disliked the Challenger, surely she wasn't as good as the Dauntless –

She ran to her room from where she had the best view of the harbour; seeing the crew go aboard. She was shuddering but could not avert her eyes either, she simply stood there rooted to the spot and hardly breathed. At last, she saw James mount the ship as well, the plank was taken in and the ropes undone, and the Challenger, sparkling in the sun even more due to those golden effects, slowly sailed out of the harbour. Her Commander stood at the helm, she clearly recognised his figure even if it was far in the distance and her sight blurred by tears, and without noticing it herself, she muttered a prayer aloud.

The Governor was concerned as well, not quite as much as his daughter, but still enough to pace his study in great uneasiness. His thoughts were similar nevertheless – a single, and more, _new_ ship, alone in capture of _three_ heavily armed pirate vessels, who after all had nothing to lose… He was worried, less for the ship than for its crew, but mostly, for the good Commodore. Not only his personal regard for this man and his merits let Governor Swann feel so tense, but that the Commodore was the foundation for the whole town's rise to prosperity and peace. What should become of them all if he got himself killed? Whoever was to be his successor, he would have to prove his worth first until his mere reputation let pirates and scoundrels better avoid the place. And what _if_ the town was to be attacked? He dreaded to think of it! For the first time ever he congratulated himself to his future son-in-law, who was after all a fabulous sword fighter. The boy would protect Elizabeth, no matter what was to come, which was some comfort at least. But what about the town? He tried to calm himself; the Commodore _would_ return, he had the Lord on his side, hadn't he? He had never lost a battle but one, and even then, he had survived, he had returned.

Will was kind of excited that the Challenger had gone to pursue these mysterious pirates and wished he had joined that mission. Unfortunately for him, he expressed this wish in presence of his lovely fiancée, before he had realised how dismayed _she_ was with that story.

"Are you _mad_?!" she cried furiously, "have you got any idea what you're saying there?! I'm half crazy with fear for the Commodore and his people, but _they_, they've got to go because it's their duty! And you?! Be glad, be _grateful_ that you needn't throw your life away like them! These pirates leave no survivors!"

He winced back with so much vehemence, but she poked him with her forefinger against his chest, "Do you even think of _me_? _I_ stay here, _I_ can't sleep with horror! You want to be a hero? You cannot _choose_ to be a hero, Will!"

"I want to be with you, Elizabeth, I –"

"Be _with_ me? So why do you want to leave then?"

"Oh Elizabeth, you must know that – I want to be able to marry you!"

"For marrying me, you've got to be alive in the first place!"

He tried to step closer, embrace her perhaps, but she withdrew, angrily sparkling at him. He stretched out his hand, "Elizabeth – _please_! I love you! I'd do _anything_ for you, just tell me what you want, and I'll do it!"

She sneered scathingly. "How can you expect that of me, if you don't know what to do yourself? Five minutes ago, you wanted to be a great man, setting out to hunt down evil, and now, you ask me what to do?"

"But Elizabeth –"

"I need to be alone, Will. Please, go."

She saw him walk away, defeated, his whole pose showed his hurt and even more his face did. She didn't want to pain him, but neither found any word of consolation or reconciliation… What _did_ she want? She was absolutely sure that she wouldn't endure when he joined the Navy – James' absence felt like suffocating, how would she feel if Will left her then? And as for their constant quarrelling what he could do instead to speed up their marriage… She couldn't say. It would come with time, wouldn't it?

For a start, it would do him quite good to grow up a bit; her anger took hold of her again. He was amiable and good-tempered, but sometimes, he stole her very last nerve – why couldn't he be a little more decisive? A little _less_ submissive? She believed at once that he would do just everything for her, without questions, but… Her future husband should be a bit more independent than that, right? He couldn't just bend to each and any of her moods – she was sorely aware that she was sometimes very moody, she didn't need her father's less than subtle hints for knowing that! How could she marry somebody who was as immature as she was herself? Perhaps it was not bad that they would have to wait some more years until joining their hands, until they both had grown a tad older?

Lieutenant Chandler had 'accidentally' met the lovely Miss Van Dyke, well, admittedly, he had walked through the streets for most of the afternoon hoping to encounter her, and his effort were gratified at last. He had offered her his arm, she had accepted, so now they sauntered along the pier and he pretended to be interested in the weather. He was angry with himself, for coming up with such a matter, for his own desire to be with her, for the fact that he couldn't refrain to steal some glances of her whenever he could.

But the lady was less interested in the skies and asked rather casually, "Lieutenant… Have you ever wondered why Mr. Gillette has _hanged_ himself?"

"Well, I suppose he truly had some glasses too much, Miss, or he couldn't get over it that he wasn't promoted after all –"

"No, I mean – why did he _hang_ himself? Why didn't he take his pistol?"

He couldn't answer to that, and she continued, "I've fretted on this point for quite a while now, and I still don't get it. Hanging is a terrible way of dying, it can take very long until one's dead. Had he shot himself, it would have been much easier!"

He was bewildered with the topic, "Oh well… I don't know! Maybe he didn't think of it?"

"Didn't _think_ of it? He must have witnessed some dozen hangings in his time in the Navy, probably more. _I_ have seen only one in my whole life, and I shall certainly never forget it!"

"Maybe he wanted to punish himself for his last sin? Maybe he thought that _if_ he misdemeaned against our Lord, it ought not go quietly and quick…"

"Quietly? Sir, if he had fired his gun, it might have been quick, but certainly not _quiet_."


	17. Chapter 17

"This _is_ the fastest ship in the whole Caribbean! I might say – the whole _world_," Captain Jack Sparrow said with some satisfaction, affectionately stroking over the rail. "Don't you think, love?"

"_I_ say you've got more luck than you'd deserve, Jack!" Anamaria replied with a scowl.

"_Captain_, if you please, love!"

"Oh cut that, for goodness' sake! They might just as well have killed us!"

"But they _haven't_!"

"I hope you're satisfied now! Have you got what you wanted, or did we risk our bums for the fun of it?!"

They had just escaped three attacking vessels after _Captain_ Sparrow had insisted to sail as close by them as they could. It had been Joshamee Gibbs who had sighted them, and to Anamaria's greatest distress, the _Captain_ had been delighted with these news. He had claimed, and probably rightly so, that these three ships, although they sailed under Venetian colours, could be just those ships that had sunk the Dauntless a month ago.

Now he sniggered. "I'm very proud of you! You're a very good helmsman!"

"_And?_ Will you finally tell me what it was that you were so keen for, or is this just another of Captain Jack Sparrow's famous secrets?!"

"I'll tell you, but for a start, head East. We're to visit the lovely town of Port Royal!"

"Are you insane? Oh please, what am I asking there! Of course you are! What the hell can you possibly want in Port Royal? Have another rendezvous with the hangman?!"

He shot her a broad grin, "I'd say it's time to visit some old acquaintance, love!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You'll see soon enough. Now set top sails and don't defy your Captain, will you?"

"You _aren't _my Captain, Jack Sparrow! And I demand you to tell me _now_ what you want in Port Royal!"

Her face left no doubt that she was exasperated – he _loved_ it when she looked like that, but by experience he knew that he was close to the edge, and one better wouldn't want go over the edge with Anamaria.

"Darling," he said archly, "I need to have some words with my ol' mate, the Commodore!"

She didn't know whether she should laugh or shout at him. "The Commodore?" she taunted, "Commodore 'I intend to see to it that every pirate gets what he deserves' Norrington?"

"And still you've nursed him, darling, haven't you? And I dare say after rescuing his life, he might have softened up a bit against me!"

"Like when you saved his fiancée's life and he wanted to hang you for it?"

"You see, love, in the end, we all just do what we ought to do. Every man's got his profession! I'm a pirate, he's the Commodore, his job is to hang people like me, and my job is to ridicule him when he tries it… However, _this_ time, he might be rather pleased to see me!"

"And why should the _Commodore_ be pleased to see you? For _I_ can hardly stand the sight!"

"Now, now – relax, love," he giggled, "The good Commodore, the scourge of piracy – don't you think he'd _love_ to hear some more about the scoundrels who've lost him his precious ship?"

"Now don't you keep me on tenterhooks! What have you seen there?"

His expression turned suddenly serious, "I've seen a dead man. What either means I'm mad – spare your breath for the soup, love – or what I've seen was a ghost, or… If it was up to me, I'd prefer it to have been a ghost, really!"

In the evening, the Captain informed the whole crew about his observation, who would listen with wide eyes and open mouths, and in the end, Anamaria moaned, "Oh _damn it_!"

"Damn _him_, once and for all I say!"

Even Mr. Cotton's parrot screeched hoarsely, "Blast 'em to hell! Blast 'em to hell!"

When the Black Pearl was close to Port Royal after a voyage of six days, Anamaria asked at last the question that had bothered her most in the past days, but which she had known useless anyway, unless they had actually reached their destination. But now, she sneered dryly, "So, Captain Sparrow, what will it be? Do we just sail into the harbour and wait for them to start the fire, or do you have a better plan?"

"Love, ya can't just sail with a pirate ship into the harbour like that. Would be quite dangerous, don't you know that?"

She struggled for patience. "I was more afraid that _you_ might have forgotten about this tiny problem!"

"You wait here with the Pearl and the crew, while Mr. Gibbs and I will take the boat. Ready, Mr. Gibbs?"

That one twisted his mouth, "Sir, I'd be glad if you'd leave me here and take somebody else, candidly, I don't think the Commodore would be very pleased seeing me, and as for me –"

"But that's just the reason why I _want_ you to accompany me, Mr. Gibbs! You know the Commodore of old, _you_ know best how to talk to him!"

"If I knew that, I'd still be in the Navy, Captain!"

"There's no reason to be so coy about it, Mr. Gibbs, there may be some awkwardness in the beginning, but once they've heard what we've come for, they'll welcome us with open arms!"

Mr. Gibbs was _very_ sceptical about that, but there was no use in arguing with the Captain anyway, he knew him too long to even consider it. He shrugged, exchanged a bewildered look with Anamaria, and followed his boss. He was also the one to row the boat; it was dark by now and they tied it a good deal away from the actual harbour, on some rocky and hidden part of the coast.

"Jack, if my eyes do not fool me, there is only one ship in the harbour – ya think it possible Norrington has already left?"

"Or they got only one flashy new ship, but then – this one is more like the Interceptor, and I don't think the good Commodore would do without a proper flagship!"

"But what do we do then? This Gillette lad is a terrible guy, he wouldn't listen to you anyway!"

"But I know somebody that he might listen to…"

They climbed up the rocks without being seen, and Gibbs already wanted to turn towards the fort when pulled back by his Captain. "Wrong way, Mr. Gibbs. Come here, we need to go up _there_!"

"To the Governor? Jack, I don't think that's a good idea, that man is –"

"Don't want to see the Governor, do we? No, I know something better!"

In the shadows, they approached the house, and with the help of a veranda and the balcony's balustrade, they soon came to the window that Jack Sparrow meant to be the right one. Mr. Gibbs' hands were all sweaty with nervousness. "They hang us straight away for this, Jack! Breaking and entering –"

"The end justifies the means, Mr. Gibbs! Come on!"

Elizabeth wasn't sleeping yet, she couldn't – too many things were on her mind, when she heard whispers on the balcony. Her curiosity drove her out of her bed, she tiptoed to the window and peeked out, shocked for a second to see two men manipulating the window of the room next to hers, but then, she recognised something about the movements of one of them. She opened her own window and whispered, "Hey! _Hey!_ Wrong entrance!"

One of the two men nearly lost his balance with surprise, but the other caught him and pushed him over.

"Lovely evening, Miss Swann!" Captain Jack Sparrow grinned broadly, flashing the full amount of his gold teeth. She quickly pulled them in, "Are you crazy? When somebody finds you here! You had almost tried to break into my father's bedroom!"

"See, I _thought_ you wouldn't possibly be snoring like that!"

"What on earth are you doing here!"

"Elizabeth, darling, I terribly missed you, you know that?"

She arched a brow, "Oh, sure. So what do you want?"

"Your friend, the Commodore – is he around?"

"Certainly, he wouldn't be _here_, and if he _was_, you'd be dead by now, but most regrettably, he isn't in Port Royal at all – what do you want from him anyway?"

"Need to talk to him about some urgent dealings, love! Who is his deputy?"

"Lieutenant Chandler – but – what sort of urgent dealing?!"

Jack smiled ingeniously, "Chandler! That's the bore we've brought home, isn't he? Now that's lucky!"

"What do you want from the Commodore, or his deputy?"

"Let me put it like that, love – I have some news for 'em that are certainly of interest!"

Elizabeth was speechless. Seeing _Jack_ _Sparrow_ and Mr. _Gibbs_ in the middle of the night in her _bedroom_, asking for _James_ because he wanted to pass him _information_ – it couldn't get much more weird than that, could it?

"Send a note to Chandler to come up here at once, love!"

"I will do no such thing! Are you drunk or what?!"

They quarrelled around in whispering tones, but eventually, Jack persuaded her – she vaguely thought that he had an air about him that could sell a barrel of rum to a nun. She scribbled some lines and sneaked down to send one of the coachmen to the fort. Coming back, she saw that her two late visitors had made themselves feel at home, but she knew them to well to even be surprised.

Chandler arrived twenty minutes later, his wig lopsided and a bit out of breath. He couldn't _believe_ that Little Miss Suit Yourself had the nerve to call for him in the middle of the night, and even more incredulous he was with the fact that he'd actually _obeyed_ that insolent person. He glared at her and was ready to relate just _how_ indignant he was with her behaviour, but she told him to be quiet and led him up to her room, answering to his puzzled inquiries, "I can't explain, see for yourself!"

He stopped dead when entering the room, and shortly, his hand flew to his sword. "You?!"

"Shh!" Elizabeth, Jack Sparrow and Mr. Gibbs made simultaneously. Captain Sparrow seemed highly satisfied with himself, while his mate clearly wished to be somewhere else and Miss Swann shrugged helplessly. "I don't know _what _it is they want here, but it seems somehow important."

Once more, Chandler opened his mouth for a snide retort, but he had no chance to speak up because Sparrow had got to his feet, and for the first time ever, he didn't appear either drunk nor unhinged. Somehow, that was enough to intrigue the young Lieutenant and make him listen to a man that he would otherwise have clapped in irons at once.

"Lieutenant Chandler, I'm glad to see that it's you we're dealing with. You're a sensible man." Sparrow's features darkened. "I hope you know how to handle this. Roughly a week ago, the Black Pearl encountered a small fleet matching the description you've given us about those ships who've attacked the Dauntless, though they sail under Venetian colours now. We approached as near as we could before they started the fire, and through the telescope, I had a pretty good view on all decks. Obviously, they were commanded in the attack by only one of their captains, which is the reason why we've ventured to come here and inform you. This man is said to be dead for two years now, killed by one of your officers. But to me, he seemed very much alive, we could escape by a hair's breadth –"

Despite himself, Chandler muttered, "Are you telling me you've risked to come here only to inform me about another pirate, Captain Sparrow? Before we go on – what's in it for you?"

Jack Sparrow had abandoned all his usual nuttiness and spoke very earnestly, "Nothing really. But the man we're talking about is a slaughterer, and though he should be some sort of natural companion in my eyes, I must say I rejoiced in his end back then. This isn't one of the usual pirate threats that you Navy guys manage so nicely on your own. He is an utmost dangerous, a particularly cruel man who doesn't know the meaning of mercy, compassion or magnanimity –"

"That means you know Commodore Nero?"

"Who? Never heard of him!"

"But according to our information it is a man called Commodore Nero commanding these pirates!"

"Given that we're talking about the same ships here, he is not, I assure you. I've had a clash with him once…" He pulled his collar open and presented two scarves that must have been effected by a pair of bullets, "And I _have_ recognised him on one of these ships."

Chandler remembered Miss Van Dyke's contemplations relating to Gillette's last statements before he passed away and asked anxiously, "Who is it that man?"

"You remember Captain Horatio Black?"

Chandler gave a muffled groan, while Elizabeth took a second longer to know why this name rang a bell with her. She gaped at Jack and croaked, "No!"

He nodded softly, maintaining his gaze at the Lieutenant, "I guess you understand what this means?"

"I do," Chandler murmured almost soundlessly, his whole pose petrified, but then he seemed to regain composure. "There can't be any mistake about it? It can't have been a man looking very similar?"

"I truly wish I wasn't sure or had been mistaken, Chandler. Believing Black had forever gone to hell was sort of – a relief."

Mr. Gibbs, who had been silent all the time, muttered quietly, "Black is the son of the devil himself! He didn't become a pirate for the treasures, he only does it for the freedom to have the victims entirely to his will. He doesn't simply kill them, no. He stakes them, he mutilates them bit by bit, keeping them just so much alive that they can feel the pain to the utmost extent. He has them tied by their feet and hung head over as living targets for his men, to practise for shooting and throwing knives, he –"

Chandler lifted his hand and showed him to stop, "Mr. Gibbs! With Miss Swann present –"

"I know about him," she whispered, "I read about him… But he's dead! He must be dead!"

"He should be dead, yes. But he must have escaped somehow… Captain Filister has been deceived, he only thought him to be dead –"

"Is that what you believe, Lieutenant?" Jack Sparrow asked gravely. "Do you really believe your good Captain was merely deceived? I rather think it's been him doing the deceiving!"

"No!" This was Elizabeth, she was pale and trembling. "You don't know him, Jack, he's – he's a good man, very agreeable –"

"Captain Filister is a highly decorated officer, Captain Sparrow!"

"He's been highly decorated for his defeat of Black in the first place," Jack sneered. "His fame derives from presenting Black's sword, but the corpse was never seen –"

"But the crew! They have seen him kill Black!" Elizabeth defended the man that she had intended her friend Henrietta to marry.

Chandler shook his head, "Only about twenty soldiers survived that battle, Miss Swann, and Filister was the only one of rank… Perhaps they weren't as much lucky as we meant, but simply ruthless enough – by conspiring with Black and the Captain, they saved their skin and – but no, it doesn't make sense… After returning to Nassau, they could have –"

"They _could_ have informed somebody, Lieutenant, but why should they? Mr. Gibbs was right, Black didn't do it for the riches, and he was generous in sharing his prey… "

"But why should _Black_ conspire with _them_ in the first place then? He could have killed them, too, would save him pretending to be dead, for an instance!" Elizabeth cried eagerly.

Jack chuckled, "Because it comes in handy to have allies in important places, darling. It's good when somebody watches your back and Filister knows a lot of things that must be of interest for Black –"

"The routes of gold frigates – which ships sail without protection, and roughly even where _other_ Navy ships patrol and how they're armed… A source like Captain Filister would be invaluable for Black." Chandler shook his head in disdain.

Jack Sparrow nodded. "Exactly. Thanks to the impressive net of communication you guys have established, you always seem to know where your comrades cruise, roughly at least. I bet you even know where the good Commodore is presently?"

Elizabeth suddenly had a lump in her throat. "The Commodore! So what you say is that Black could know where the Challenger is right now, and how it is armed?!"

Chandler looked sick. "Yes, I know their routes, and I've sent dispatches to Nassau immediately after the Challenger's departure – But nevertheless! How should Filister keep in touch with Black! Black can't just sail to Nassau Port every now and then!"

"That's the only thing I haven't figured out yet," Jack admitted with a shrug.

"Wake up your father, Miss Swann. I have to talk to him. Wake him up _now_!"


	18. Chapter 18

_Cheers to **GoldenFawkes** for her kind reviews, and to everyone else who reviewed, too, of course!_

* * *

Elizabeth Swann had thrown a tantrum in this night, on the one hand confirming Lieutenant Chandler's opinion of her, but on the other, he couldn't deny being touched by her genuine worry for the Challenger's sake. She had shouted at them to do something, to rush to the Challenger's support, and he would gladly have done so if he had only known how. Her father had been so shocked by the news that no useful suggestion could be expected from his side, only Captain Sparrow had kept calm. He was through with his mission, what else could or should he have done than inform the only English officers that he knew he could trust, and leave it to them how to handle their own black sheep, and Captain Black with his men? He and Mr. Gibbs left the confused gathering before dawn and intended to return to the Black Pearl, but they weren't out of the house yet – this time, they didn't have to balance on balustrades at least – when they were stopped by Elizabeth, breathless and out of herself.

"You can't just leave!" she cried pleadingly. "Jack! You've come here to warn the Commodore, and now you want to leave him to his fate?!"

"What else should I do, Missy? Your good Lieutenant Chandler is an apt sailor, and I bet he's a decent strategist as well. He will know what to do, and _I_ have to leave! You may have forgotten, but your local hangman still has an open debt with me!"

"You've risked to come already, and this time my father wouldn't allow you to be punished! Don't give me this nonsense! You must do something!"

"And what would that be?"

"The Black Pearl is the fastest ship in the whole Caribbean! Find and inform the Commodore, the Falcon is too slow, they might not reach them in time!"

"The Falcon is like the Interceptor, Missy, it is fast enough! And your Commodore is a clever man, he knows to defend himself and his ship. Why on earth should I risk my neck to rush for somebody's aid who wants to see me dead, eh?"

"You've already risked your neck for him, you've saved him from that island and brought him here –"

"Yes, and I still don't know why I did it. My crew thinks I'm mad!"

Mr. Gibbs nodded knowingly, but Elizabeth glared at him. "Rubbish, Jack! You've saved him because you're a _good_ _man_, and because you know very well that the Commodore is good, too! Don't leave him alone! You must not let him down now!"

"I _haven't_ let him down, sweetheart! And what do you want anyway?!"

"Wait for a minute! Promise me to wait for a second," she urged him, running up the stairs again, "Wait!"

"What's her problem?" Mr. Gibbs asked nonplussed, and his Captain gave a laugh.

"What's her problem? That girl doesn't know what's good for her, _that's_ her problem! It's dawning on dear Miss Swann that she might –"

"Here!" she cried from above, running back to them, waving with something, "Jack, you must give this to Anamaria, will you?"

"What's that?"

She presented him a golden chain with a small golden cross with five rubies. "Give her this!"

"It is very nice of you to give away your jewellery, Miss Swann, you happen to have some more things of gold that you'd like to dispose of?"

"She's nursed James," Elizabeth panted, "she's saved his life, Dr. Jennings said. Give her this and tell her that God will bless her for her goodness!"

"Hey, hey! So what do _I_ get for my goodness? I've had an eye on this lovely golden statue in your father's –"

"Jack! I will reward you, go for the Challenger now and I will make my father give you whatever you want, you shall have just anything!"

"You may be sure, darling, I already _have_ everything I want! I got the Pearl back, and being a pirate, I can take whatever else I may be in want of! I'm not like your Commodore, you can't tempt _me_ to some suicide mission!"

Mr. Gibbs burst out laughing, "Yes, Miss, and marrying our Captain is out of the question!"

Elizabeth's cheeks turned deeply scarlet, even in the feeble light. Jack Sparrow grinned slyly. "Speaking of it, love – shall I congratulate you for getting engaged to young Mr. Turner? I'm still stunned that you resisted me, only to throw yourself into the arms of the puppy!"

She glared at him defiantly. "I would have resisted you and if you were the last man on earth, Jack! No woman who's right in her mind could ever do so much as _think_ of attaching herself to you!"

He gazed at the necklace in his hand, grinning. "I didn't want you to _attach_ yourself to me, darling! Besides, you're wrong, or you've just claimed Mrs. Jack Sparrow to be a lunatic!"

"_Mrs. _Jack Sparrow?! Whoever would marry _you_?!"

"Oh, the Lord will bless her!" He grinned triumphantly and let the necklace dangle before Elizabeth's nose.

"No! Anamaria?! What did you do, hit her on the head or something? The last time I've seen her, she was quite sensible still!"

"Nah, sweetheart, the last time you've seen her, she was already married to me for six years! At least I think so, I don't know how official a marriage is that was performed by a drunken, shipwrecked priest in Tortuga…"

Elizabeth goggled at him. "But Will told me about those – those – _women_ in Tortuga –"

"There's a lot that you don't know, sweetheart, about life, or love, and knowing you to be as stubborn as an oak, it doesn't even make sense to explain it to you. I must have met a thousand women in my life, and _some_ were worth a damn. There used to be a time when I had a bonny lass in almost every harbour in the whole Caribbean."

He shot Mr. Gibbs a conspicuous smile, and that one giggled. "_One _bonny lass per harbour? Remember the two harpies in San Fernando? When they understood that you had double-played on them? Jesus –"

Jack smirked with the memory of Carmenita and Juliet – fiery, the both of them! "There are girls that captivate a man's eyes, or spirits, one is pretty and sweet-tempered, one is clever and brave, I've deemed myself in love with any of them really. When Anamaria signed on the Hummingbird – that was my ship back then – I did not expect anything but a gifted sailor and a courageous fighter, though Mr. Gibbs here recommends by any rate to take no women aboard –"

"It's _bad_ luck to have a woman aboard!" Mr. Gibbs said with emphasis.

"But luckily, I'm not superstitious. Anamaria and I fought a lot of battles side by side before I finally realised what a treasure was already on my ship. That all these lovely girls I had fancied were no patch on a real woman like her… Took me all of my persuading powers to make _her_ accept me though!" He chuckled, "Now little Miss Swann, _you_ are to marry the puppy, so you will never learn about the difference. And say hello for me to Will. How's he doing lately?"

"Fine," Elizabeth said testily, "He's doing fine, but never mind now! Jack, I beseech you – go after the Challenger, please!"

"Speaking of dear Anamaria, love – she'd kill me for suggesting it! And even if she didn't – the good Commodore would start the fire as soon as sighting us!"

"No, he wouldn't! He owes his life to you, and James –"

"_James?_"

"Jack, you've said yourself that a friend is invaluable, and as invaluable a friend as James is for _me_, _you_ surely won't regret it either to help him once more! Name your prize and I'll pay it, I swear, but don't just sail away now! You _mustn't_ doom him -!

"_I'm_ not dooming him, darling. The Commodore is a lucky creature, and I'm sure that he'll be lucky with Black as well. Trust _him_ to be a good fighter, I must know. Now leave me alone, I have to return to my own business again, be assured I give this to Anamaria, and good day to you!"

He dragged Gibbs away, unaffected by Elizabeth's pleas, vows and curses, who saw them disappear in the distance eventually. She was desperate. Chandler was still discussing with her father what was to do now, and certainly, the Falcon would set sails by noon at the latest. She was a fast ship, no doubt, but what if she wasn't fast enough? What if it was already too late? What if this Black had already ambushed the Challenger?

For some minutes, she had set all her hopes in Jack, she had truly meant she'd be able to convince him to help them. But of course, why should he? He didn't care for James, he might have some regard for him, but in the end, regard didn't matter in such a case. She couldn't even be angry with him, she had to be grateful that he had come to warn James in the first place, more couldn't be demanded from a guy like Jack.

But what now? Chandler had said that they should be around the Caymans, two weeks even for the Falcon, ten days for the Pearl maybe… Lord, if she thought of this Black, it turned around her stomach. To fear that they could be captured by that man, what he'd do with them – it took her breath. Did Black know they were after him? Did he lurk somewhere, waiting for them, luring them into some ambush? How could she have deceived herself like that in Captain Filister? Half of her was still screaming denial, it _couldn't_ be because it _must not_ be! The good-humoured, easy-going Captain – a traitor, a greedy villain? She remembered their conversations, how pleasant they had always been, but also that she had been strangely dissatisfied with him, at other times. When he had spoken of the Fortuna – hadn't she thought that it was improper to be so unceremonious about losing his ship? Hadn't she felt irritated by his obvious lack of true grief after his cousin's death? The obnoxious scoundrel!

She also felt severe stings of remorse for her eagerness to bring him together with Henrietta – what sort of suitor had she picked there for her friend?! Being her clever self, Henrietta hadn't been interested in Filister at all, thanks to her cool temper that wasn't easily incensed, if it could be incensed at all. Poor Hen would feel just as bad about the Challenger's dire situation once she heard of it, for cool or not, she must know what it meant. Perhaps she didn't deserve James, all right, perhaps she didn't love him like she should, sure – but she had to be worried nevertheless! Something had to be done, and she returned to Chandler and her father to make them hurry up. But the Lieutenant came down just now, his face twisted and worn-out, and Elizabeth stormed at him. "Please Sir, you must rush to their aid –"

"What exactly do you think am I contemplating, Miss Swann? _Of course_ we will make haste and try to help them! We'll do everything that is in our power!"

"Lieutenant Chandler, I know that James has no truer friend than you, I _know_ and God will bless you for it! Make sure he comes back safe! I _beg_ you, do _more_ than what's in your power!"

He looked at her in amazement, "May the Lord bless _you_ for your concern, Miss! And be reassured that I _will_ do just anything I can!"

He left and headed down for the fort to arrange the soon departure of the Falcon; it would be ready to leave by noon approximately, which left him some more time. He didn't wrestle with his wishes this time, but walked straight to the Van Dykes. Miss Van Dyke had been in the know about so much already, she deserved to learn about the rest as well. Maybe he wasn't to see her ever again, maybe it was too late for rescuing the Challenger anyway, and the Commodore was already… – No! He didn't allow himself to do so much as _think_ of this possibility. Miss Van Dyke was surprised about such an early visitor and asked him to follow her to the parlour. In short and plain words, he reported about Captain Sparrow's unexpected appearance and the information he had conveyed, finishing, "Don't be afraid, Miss, we will set out for their help immediately. The Falcon is preparing to leave as soon as we can!"

She was very pale and whispered, "Yes, I suppose that's good… Oh Lord!"

"I hope you allow me to express my admiration of your impressive foresight, Miss Van Dyke. You were right all along with all your conclusions."

A smile flew over her face like a shadow. "I would thank you at once if I believed to deserve such compliment, Lieutenant! But I merely guessed, rather than concluded, and to think anybody capable of such vile deeds is most certainly no compliment to my own wicked imagination! Not for a minute though, I suspected Captain Filister, or thought this infamous pirate to be among the living still, and this being the crucial parts of Mr. Sparrow's disclosure, I cannot claim to have possessed any true insight at all!"

"Your modesty is very amiable, Miss Van Dyke, though you needn't, you mustn't underrate your own cleverness!"

"Oh, you make it hard for me, Sir! Shall I decide which is the more valuable quality, modesty or cleverness? I ought to pick virtue at once and declare that I'm not very clever, inducing you to state the opposite and make me blush both with the compliment, and my own guilty conscience for being not very truthful to begin with. No, Lieutenant, I suppose I better stay on the side of truth and acknowledge therefore that I'm far more clever than modest, but cleverness is neither a virtue in many cases, nor a blessing, and most certainly, it is the safest way to sink a woman in society's regard!"

"What a shame for society then! Although it wasn't my intention at all to make you choose between them, I shall tell you nevertheless that I'm glad you've chosen truth over virtue. It suits you very well!"

"So let me say one more thing considering my possible foresight, which may turn out to be clever, or simply wrong – you've said you were still wondering how Captain Filister could keep in contact with those pirates, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have, this was the only thing that even Captain Sparrow had no clue of!"

"And how should he, I don't think he's ever encountered the Captain. But I have, and recollecting something he told me once, I might be able to bring some light into this mystery – do you remember the Fortuna's mascot? He spoke of it very proudly, claiming that they had tamed the albatross. I mocked him then, but I've seen this creature several times. It _is_ tame, and more than only once I spotted something like small notes attached to its claws. I didn't pay attention then, only thinking to myself that I had done injustice to the Captain for not believing him, but I suppose I understand it now!"

He gaped at her, overwhelmed with his admiration for the pretty, smart lady. She was surely right; he had seen the bird in passing once, too, but had forgotten about it instantly. They talked some more before he had to part, and on the threshold, she stretched out her hand to him. "Lieutenant Chandler, I will pray for you and your safe return with the Commodore. I wish there was more that I could do!"

He took the hand and bowed, kissing her fingertips and trembled inwardly. "I shall return with the Commodore or not at all, Miss, I promise!"

"That's dreadful, Sir!" she cried and blushed. "If there's nothing that you can do for the Commodore, you _have_ to come back at once and stand in for him! Don't say you wouldn't return!"

He turned away and left, and likewise did Elizabeth Swann, sneaking out of her father's house. She had no reason for stealth, but tried to be as silent as possible still. Her father had urged her to go to bed after that eventful night, but she could impossibly find rest, so now she walked down to the town. Lately, she had become a regular churchgoer, though she seldom attended the actual services. Instead, like now, she fell to her knees before the altar, and began to pray.

More than two hundred souls, some of them children still, were sailing on the Challenger in this very moment – if the wretched pirate fleet hadn't assaulted them yet. Oh Lord, those poor, poor sods! Not knowing who was waiting for them… And among them, James, the best among _any_ given lot of men. She prayed to god that his famous prowess would save the day; he knew after all that he'd have to take down three ships at once. But he didn't know that they were already waiting for him, and James was too decent a man to be capable imagining just _how_ bad that Captain Black could be –

"He is an officer of the Royal Navy, Miss Swann, trust the Commodore to be _very_ capable to imagine _every_ vile deed. He's seen enough of them."

Elizabeth gave a start, for a second, she thought her mind was playing a trick on her, but it was only Reverend Martin. She goggled at him, and he gave her a benign smile. "Don't be surprised, Madam – you spoke your prayers out loud –"

"Did I?"

"Yes, you did, but be not alarmed. I didn't mean to eavesdrop – our conversations with the Lord are a very private matter, and I only heard your last words. Actually… I must say I am pleasantly surprised to see you so often in this church, recently."

She was embarrassed, she couldn't say why. "Well – so many souls in danger – I thought I better pray for them – I…"

"That is very good of you, Miss. I'm sure the Lord will take delight in your eagerness."

"I doubt it, Reverend… I was – I acted very badly, and I – I don't think He – thinks very kindly of me…"

"Our Lord is almighty and _merciful_, Miss Swann. And allow me the assumption that you cannot have done anything so _very_ bad."

But she had! Without thinking about it, Elizabeth 'confessed', explaining to the friendly parson why it was going to be all _her_ fault, if the Challenger was sunk, if all those souls were to drown, or worse still, and why no one but she was to blame if James did not return home. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but the Reverend listened in perfect silence, until she couldn't go on, because she was sobbing too hard to speak.

"Miss Swann," he murmured at last, pulled her up and steered her over to a bench to sit down. "Calm yourself. You know as well as the next man _how_ good a sailor our Commodore is. And it is _not_ your mistake that it is his job to pursue pirates. Sooner or later, he would have heard of this Mr Black, and he would have set out to hunt him down. It got little, or nothing, to do with _you_. What I understand though is that your mind is very badly stirred up, while your soul longs for atonement. I believe I can help you with both."

"Can you?" Elizabeth cried hopefully, despite herself. She didn't think the Reverend could help her; she didn't need a sermon now.

"Yes, I believe I can. Come with me, Miss Swann. Certainly, the Lord is pleased with your prayers, but there is but little good in crying your eyes out in the church, when you could be of so much more use for Him elsewhere. Let me help you to put your mind at ease by employing it usefully."

She had no idea what he might be talking about, but followed him nevertheless, grateful for his kindness and sympathy. He tugged her arm underneath his own and lead her out of the chapel, into the bright sunshine, and curiously, towards the fort, which was just now humming with busy preparations. But he didn't go all the way; instead, he stopped before the small hospital adjoining the fortress.

"Help yourself by helping me, Miss Swann," the parson said brightly and pushed open the door. "There is a lot to do. You can distract yourself from your gloomy premonitions, and in the same moment do something that our Lord will thoroughly approve of!"

He was right. At first, Elizabeth was still hesitant, but she soon forgot her doubts, surrounded by so much more tangible misery. The Reverend pointed out a number of patients who had nobody to visit them, either because they didn't have any family, or because their loved ones had to work. She sat next to the beds of a very old, frail lady – Mrs Parks – and listened to her quiet complaints; she nursed two soldiers suffering from chicken pox. She sat with a fisherman who had lost an eye in an accident, and a young woman who had lost her baby in child-bed. There was no room in this hospital to be complacent about her own grief, Reverend Martin had been right, and before she knew what she was doing, she helped the two tired nurses to hand out lunch.

This was when Sarah found her; poor Governor Swann had discovered that his child was missing, and had sent out a whole party to search her. Reverend Martin walked her to the entrance. "And, Miss Swann? Where will we two meet again? In the church, or here?"

"I'll return, Sir. I promise."


	19. Chapter 19

They were on sea for a nearly a month already when they finally sighted a Dutch vessel that resembled the ships they had been looking for. They gave signals for them to stop, but the crew of said ship seemed disinclined to answer or obey, instead they lifted their anchors, set top sails and tried to escape. This ship was considerably smaller than the Challenger and would therefore be much faster, so the Commodore commanded to fire a warning shot. If they didn't stop then, they would have to attack them from this distance, or they'd be entirely out of reach soon. Predictably, the answer was as belligerent as the inquiry, and suddenly changing their course, the strange ship turned to them and fired back from all cannons they could possibly have.

It didn't do much harm, and due to its small size, was quickly out of their reach again. Of course, the Commodore had ordered to shoot back, but the little skirmish hadn't damaged either ship. He decided to follow the escapees, for _now_; this was the best trace they had had since starting their search. But he could smell that this was a trap, and he told his First Lieutenant to keep a lookout for the pirate's allies, and also stick to open waters on their pursuit.

Indeed, their prey _was_ a good deal quicker, but he couldn't help the feeling that they might be a little quicker still, but didn't really try. Yes, this was a trap, and when a group of small islands appeared on the horizon, he ordered his sailors to stop at once, and clarify the bearings. These 'islands' were not much more than some heaps of sand, uninhabitable, and so tiny that nobody had bothered to name them either. They weren't even noted on the first map they consulted.

Lieutenant Bryson, Robert Chandler's stand-in, looked through his telescope, and remarked, "You are right, Sir. This _cannot_ but be a trap. Likely, they'll be waiting for us, hidden between the islands, or shoot at us from land."

"That would be a terrible plan, if it was the case, Lieutenant. Regarding _our_ size, we'd blast their land-based canons away without as much as a scratch on our own ship. And they wouldn't be able to enter either… No, if I'm sure of one thing, it is this. Nobody is waiting on the _beaches_ for us."

He wasn't sure what to do next, and knew that he needn't hurry with a decision either. That fleeing vessel _wanted_ them to follow; they weren't going to vanish for good. But hasty decisions could lead to great harm, so he would think about this some longer. "Tell the men to stay at their posts, Bryson," he murmured, gazing at the horizon abaft. An albatross flew far over their heads and disappeared in the distance, and James turned around again, observing the islands ahead.

The enemy had two small ships, and a frigate. The smaller ones were no serious problem; the Challenger could bomb them to the bottom of the ocean without much risk for themselves. The frigate was more dangerous, but the way these islands were located, she wouldn't have much room to manoeuvre. Neither would the Challenger have, admittedly, but certain risks _had_ to be taken if one was serving the Crown. No pirate could be taken without a certain degree of hazard.

He pointed at the map, tracing the course with his finger. "We'll follow them like they want. But we'll sail straight through, no matter what _they_ do. When we spot this ship, or any of the others, we'll fire everything we've got at them, but we will _not_ slow down. Got it?"

"Aye, Sir." Bryson rushed off, and the Challenger set in motion again.

There was one problem that he hadn't taken into consideration, as they had to see very soon. The escaping vessel wasn't a third of the Challenger's size, and weighing not remotely as much. That meant, that it didn't lie nearly as deep in the water either. The tiny islands turned out to be one bigger island, in fact, which was partly flooded in its lower parts, and groaning with his miscalculation, James realised seconds before it actually happened, that his ship was about to run aground.

"Blast it," he cursed, ordering his men to take care of the problem, but a ship of the Challenger's size wasn't moved so easily, or quickly, either. "I got to hand it to those bastards – the idea was good, using our superior size against us. Now hurry up! Quick!"

To his bottomless horror, he noticed several things at once, while the Challenger was still utterly disabled, and most of the crew engaged to push the vessel free again. The small ship with the Dutch colours reappeared, like a cumbrous fly over a sick person. The frigate, under Venetian colours, appeared, too, but keeping a respectful distance to the sand bank that stinted the Challenger, but turned side-wards, making ready to fire at them. And behind them, a third, small, and devilishly fast ship appeared, exchanging the Venetian colours for a black flag now and rapidly closing in.

"To arms," James cried, "Abandon the rudders, everyone back to their posts!"

"Sir?"

"We cannot escape, they're too quick, Bryson. They set us up, and the only chance we have is our superior firepower!"

And then, hell broke loose. The first salvo came from the small ship astern, and the other two instantly followed the example. The Challenger shot back with full force, landing some good hits before being hit severely itself. Despite the fact that they were stuck in the sand, the mighty vessel was shaken and slightly turned around, far enough to offer even more target. Their enemies were indeed well-prepared, and seemed to know no fear – they were firing and seizing in, the Challenger in the middle and forced to split up their efforts. He yelled commands through the deafening noise of the cannon fire, noticing weakly that they had been hit several times already, but so had the enemies' largest ship, giving it a heavy slope. He hoped they were disabled enough to dare a breakthrough, the Challenger had to get out of this place if they wanted to stand a chance, he gave order for some men to continue trying to steer them off the sand bank. The crew of the damaged ship changed its course, too, directly darting towards them, clearly not afraid to crash into them, he spoke a quick prayer.

Indeed, it looked good for a few moments, until the smaller ships, unhindered by the shallow waters, had closed in far enough. James was almost pushed over the rail from the heavy impact of the hostile half-sunken ship that was still shooting at them, and had hit the far away end port side, and in the same moment, about twenty sailors began entering, abandoning their own ship and jumping at the crew of the Challenger. He pulled his sword and yelled, "Cannons do not seize fire! Everyone else – fire at will!"

The Challenger got invaded by four dozen pirates, knives between their teeth and apt in throwing them, he saw a dozen of his own men hit or stabbed, he himself fighting and killing three men. The other ships had closed in on them, too, more and more pirates entered and soon outnumbered his own crew two to one. The deck was red with blood by now, it was a massacre, his crew fought bravely, but one man after the other got killed, the cannons incessantly firing still, and he screamed for them to stop and come on deck – it was no longer important to sink the ships, first of all, they'd have to save their own. And then, he saw _him_, the man that was leading the attack. He wasn't very large, comparably skinny in fact, dressed in black from head to toe and fighting like a berserk. He had a scimitar in every hand and whirled them through the air just virtuously, and most of all – he was laughing, he was laughing like mad, he probably _was_ mad, but utmost successful nevertheless. Corpses or mutilated sailors paving his way, he headed for the helm, and swallowing hard, Commodore Norrington prepared himself to meet him. The man that had to be 'Commodore Nero', made a small, mocking bow when they were facing each other at last; he wasn't much older than James Norrington, his once probably even and regular features were disfigured by scars, and his shining black eyes were sparkling with malice.

"Commodore Norrington! We meet at last!" he snarled condescendingly, crossing his blades. "You will regret not to have died the last time we've met!"

"_You_ will regret that we've ever met at all!"

Commodore Nero grinned, revealing pointed white teeth that looked like fangs, "You truly think so? I've beaten you once, and I know for sure I will do so again!"

"Go ahead then!"

The man lunged forth and stroke with both swords at once, James had to give that he knew what he was doing, he had never seen a better sword fighter, including Elizabeth's fiancé; Black closed in bit by bit, cackling and screaming. "I won't kill you at once, Norrington! I will carve you like a turkey, but I'll leave it to you to choose the sequence! First the hands, or better the feet? I will sink my teeth in your flesh, I will drink your blood and all the time, you will beg me to kill you! Have you ever felt real pain? You have no idea what agony can make a man do! You will soon experience pain beyond expression, my word on it!"

The Commodore didn't doubt the seriousness of these announcements for one second, nevertheless he spat, "You should better kill me right now, pirate, for as long as I can still hold onto this sword, I won't surrender!"

"Ah, so you've made your pick! The right hand may go first then!"

James could dodge one strike, but got hit by the next, the sharp blade cutting through the skin of his chest like butter. It wasn't too bad though, he scarcely felt any pain anyway, but his opponent cried triumphantly, "See? It's so easy! If you give up now, I pledge to put a bullet in your head before eating you!"

"But that would spoil all your fun, I suppose!"

"Oh no, to see you whimper for mercy will gratify me for that!"

They went on fighting all the time, and James snarled, "You take this very personal, don't you? Shouldn't _I_ be the one taking things personal after you've destroyed my ship?"

"And what a pretty ship it was, Norrington! But you've got this one for it, not bad either – we will make a lot of money with these posh trimmings! Just like an invitation, isn't it? But to come back to your question – yes, I indeed take this personal, in a way. You were famous for never losing a battle until you've met me, and I will take pride and delight to defeat a man that was said to be nigh invincible! Your fame will only increase my own!"

"If it's fame you're after – why never leave any survivors who can spread it?!"

"I need no public acknowledgement, Norrington! It's enough that _I_ know it! I've never lost a battle either!"

"How lucky, but also quite obvious, isn't it? For if you had, you had long been dangling from some rope, with the vultures feeding on _your _flesh, hm? Besides, you can't be in the trade for too long!"

"Ha!" the man cried gleefully, "I've killed the first man when I was twelve – I was a pirate already when you were still running around the Christmas tree in your lovely English estate. You will wish you had never left it!"

He received another strike, to the left shoulder, and this time, it _did_ hurt. He pulled himself together; he had been hit before, it wasn't too bad – at least he hoped so. If he had to die here, he'd do so in dignity!

"Do you want me to stop, Commodore? One word is enough! Say 'surrender' and I'll stop!"

Through gritted teeth, he replied, "Never!"

In this moment, he saw the most astonishing thing – his opponent couldn't, as it appeared behind him. A ship was coming towards them, a _familiar_ ship with black sails, and for one second, he was taken by surprise that Sparrow _was_ after all in league with these butchers – he hadn't expected this! But then, he heard an explosion and realised that the Black Pearl was shooting at the enemy's nearest vessel, and with an expression of surprise, 'Commodore Nero' looked aside. "What's _that_?!"

It was surely neither sportive nor gentleman-like, but James seized this moment and lunged at him, dealing him a severe stroke, making him lose his left sword and shout with fury. Blood was shooting out of his fore arm, and James tried to smile. "Equal chances, don't you think?"

His enemy was infuriated, both with his injury and the fact that Sparrow's men were entering the Challenger, too, fighting alongside the crew. The tables were slowly turning, even though the battle between Nero and himself didn't lose vigour; both gave all they had, and very faintly, James realised that he would lose after all. The Challenger might be rescued, but he wouldn't be able to stand up to his opponent's fierce attacks much longer. His left arm turned more numb with every minute due to his wounded shoulder, and there, he received another stroke in the side, making him fall on his knees. Nero laughed raucously and prepared for the final strike, lifting his blade and –

He heard the shot, but only realised whom it had hit when he saw Nero's perplexed face, and instinctually, he raised his own sword one last time to defend himself, when that one's final hit came crushing down on him. He had missed James, now reeling and clinging to the banister, still looking utterly astonished, and James dared to take a short look who might have been the shooter. Possibly, his own face was just as bewildered as his opponent's in that second – he saw Mr. Gibbs with a pistol in his hand, running up the steps to the helm, and in passing, he dealt Nero a blow with the barrel, making him collapse. He couldn't but goggle at his former inferior, speechless, out of breath, and Mr. Gibbs bowed to him, "Is it very bad, Sir? Can you get up?"

"_Mr. Gibbs?!_"

"It's over, Commodore. The remaining lot has surrendered – come, let me help you…"

When he awoke, he was lying in his own berth, neat white bandages around his chest, stomach and shoulder, and it took him five seconds to fully realise what had happened. A very young sailor was sitting next to him, one eye bloodshot and a bandage around his arm, but otherwise cheerful and beaming at him. "Sir! You're awake!"

"Yes – Mr. Craven, right?"

"Yes, Sir! Can I do something for you? The pirate lady told me to watch over you and get her as soon as you've woken up, shall I fetch her?"

"The _lady_?!"

"The pirate lady, Sir. She's nursed you, and said it'd be all right. Does it hurt badly though?"

He shook his head, although it was a lie – he felt as if he had been disembowelled, and sent the boy away to get 'the lady'. This one appeared some minutes later, accompanied by the notorious Captain Sparrow, who grinned complacently.

"Commodore Norrington," he cried, "I hadn't meant you'd recover so quickly!"

He was elbowed by his pretty companion, but James replied brightly, "And I hadn't meant that I could ever in my life be glad to see you, Captain Sparrow! Seems like we've both been wrong then!"

"See, Anamaria? _He_ addresses me as _Captain_ as well!"

"Doesn't keep me from going on to call you idiot, Jack!" she retorted, and turning to James, she said, calmer, "How do you feel, Commodore? I've attended your wounds, but unless I'm badly mistaken, you should be all right in no time!"

"I'm fine – thank you, Miss – excuse me, I still don't know your name! You've patched me up for the second time, and I don't know your surname!"

"Oh, it's simply Anamaria." She smiled and shot Sparrow a side-glance.

"So – thank you, Anamaria, I shall be forever grateful for your kindness!"

"You're welcome!"

Jack Sparrow disliked not being in the focus of interest, so he pulled her away and got closer, grinning as broadly as he could. "Stop flirting with the Commodore, darling!"

James had never before been accused to be 'flirting', and naturally, it could only come from a guy like Sparrow! "And thank you, too, Captain Sparrow! You shall not be forgotten! Why on earth – I mean – did you just pass by coincidentally?"

"Coincidentally? Oh no! I was _sent_ here, a charming young lady promised me her entire heritage if we would find you still in time!"

What the hell was this fellow talking there?! Soon enough, James learnt all details of interest; shocked, dismayed, and most of all astonished with every bit he heard. He was also informed that the surviving pirates had been tied and brought to the cells in the hull, including that pirate that turned out to be the not-so-dead-as-believed Horatio Black. He hit his own forehead, "Oh god, _of course_! Black – Nero – I could have thought of that!"

"Don't be hard on yourself, Commodore," Anamaria said softly. "You believed him to be dead!"

Sparrow continued his narration, and while he spoke, James spotted a little golden cross around Anamaria's neck. He pointed at it. "I know that –"

"Oh yes, I _told_ you that Miss Swann is distributing her family heirlooms!" Sparrow sniggered. "She gave me this for Anamaria because she has nursed you last time!"

"Did she?!"

"Oh yes. The little damsel was seriously distressed, she was practically on her _knees_ to beg me go looking for you. She was scared that the Falcon couldn't make it in time, and right she was."

"So what made you do all this? Go to Port Royal, come here – that's not like you, Captain Sparrow, is it?"

"Should you know me so well, Commodore? Didn't I mention that dear Elizabeth offered me to ask for _whatever_ _I_ _want_ in return for the favour?"

He was stunned with this remark. "Excuse me?"

"No, no, she didn't say she'd marry me." Jack Sparrow laughed. "I asked her about it, and she retorted something including the words 'not if you were the last man on earth', roughly –"

"You didn't tell me _that_," Anamaria giggled merrily, too.

"However, apart from this tiny exclusion, she was very generous. How large is the Governor's fortune, in your opinion?"

"Captain Sparrow – you can't – you know Miss Swann is very impulsive, you can impossibly take her for her word in this respect!"

"Yes, mettlesome, isn't she? And so _rich_!"

"Listen, Captain – I don't mean to impose my own fortune was only half as grand as the Governor's, but name your prize and I will pay it!"

"Now that's funny – I think she used exactly the same words!"

"How much do you want, Captain Sparrow? Would fifteen thousand pounds suffice your conceptions?"

"What about twenty-five?"

James swallowed, nodded and said hoarsely, "Agreed, twenty-five thousands –"

"Ah, thinking about it – what'd you say to thirty-five?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before groaning, "Thirty-five thousand pounds. I don't possess so much money presently, Captain Sparrow, you can get twenty-five at once and the other ten in approximately two or three years. It's a good deal for you, Captain, for as long as the Governor lives, Elisabeth has no money of her own to give to you!"

"You don't have thirty thousand pounds, Commodore? Really, you guys should demand pay rises! Thirty thousand pounds, that's three merchant vessels or one gold frigate – ever thought about changing your career plans?"

James closed his eyes once more and said through gritted teeth, "No, absolutely not!"

"That's the thing I find so thoroughly impressive about you, Commodore. You're always so righteous, so – so –"

"Stiff?" he suggested dryly.

"Yes, of course, but that wasn't the term I was looking for! I mean, what on earth makes you offer me your whole fortune just to stand in for dearest Elizabeth's debts?"

"She's offered you her father's fortune to help my crew. It's only fair that I take on this duty myself!"

"She was scarcely bothering for the _crew_, I found… Anyway, keep your hard-earned money, I only wanted to see how far you'd go. Would you have agreed to fifty thousands, too?"

"I could not have, for I couldn't give you my word that I'd ever have so much money!"

"See? That's what I meant. You're so _good_, Commodore! Always so honourable, always so unselfish! When I asked you about possible changes of career, I more thought of myself… In my age, one starts wondering about the future, you know? And after knowing _you_ a little better, an idea popped into my mind – right after sailing out of Port Royal with Miss Swann's promise to do anything in her power if we only found and brought you back. Why not, I've asked myself, plead for clemency, for me and my lot, make the Governor sign an amnesty and become righteous privateers?"

He smiled complacently, but the Commodore could only stare at him. "You must be joking!"

"No, I'm quite serious, I assure you! I've figured that a privateer does pretty much the same like a pirate, but without risk to end on the gallows!"

"That didn't defy you so far, did it?"

"There will be some changes in my life in the next time, and I could well do with a little more security!"

He was still chuckling and exchanged a glance with the woman next to him. James arched a brow, "Changes? What sort of changes?"

Sparrow positively beamed. "I'm becoming a father!"

"You become a father? What woman on earth would ever let you come near her?!"

Anamaria blushed badly, and Sparrow cast her an admiring glance. James tried hard not to gape too much. "You, Miss Anamaria?! Well, that's – uhm… Unexpected!"

"Ah, Commodore, it's Mrs. Sparrow if you will, or simply Anamaria!" Sparrow sniggered. "And in approximately three months, we'll have little Jack to care for. Just imagine the bad effect on a child hearing that his father had been hanged!"

"Devastating, I presume –" James muttered helplessly; Sparrow couldn't be right in his mind, but even if _this_ couldn't be satisfyingly settled, he was clearly most serious about his – er – _career plan_.


	20. Chapter 20

The Challenger had suffered from the attacks, there was no denying it. But on the whole, she had withstood the hostile fire remarkably well, Commodore Norrington found, and for the first time, he was endeared to his new ship; he meant, he could even tolerate the golden trimmings after all.

The masts hadn't fallen, and the leaks had been mended provisionally, so they were able to sail back, accompanied by the Black Pearl. Not two days later, they sighted the Falcon, which was looking out for them. Lieutenant Chandler was most relieved to see both the ship and his Commodore again, and only slightly bewildered to hear about Captain Sparrow's unexpected rescue mission. This man was bound to be surprising.

Much more intriguing was the idea that said Captain wished to turn privateer; he was consulting the Commodore and got to hear the story, torn between amusement and a soft shock.

"Miss Swann offered them _that_?!" he asked, wide-eyed. "How could she offer him something like this?! It's not in her power to decide!"

"No, she didn't. She offered him to ask for whatever, but I think she meant her father's fortunes rather than any amnesty."

"She offered Captain Sparrow her father's fortunes? I wonder what the good Governor would say to that!"

James smiled. "He's accustomed to her temper, I dare say –"

"So what will you do, Sir? The Governor _can't_ pardon Sparrow!"

"Neither can I, Chandler. I have to report to Admiral Thompson, and then we'll see. He'll certainly be most grieved to hear about his protégé Filister, and I'm not sure whether this puts him in a mood to grant clemency to anyone!"

"Is Sparrow aware of that?"

"Yes, I told him, of course. It's not fair to let him run into disaster. If he sails into Nassau Port just like that, he'll be hanged in the next morning, no matter what. He will return with you to Port Royal, and wait there while I see what I can do about the Admiral."

"And if you can't do anything about it?"

The Commodore chuckled mirthlessly. "Then I will return and grant him safe-conduct, and he'll sail away with my entire fortune –"

"_What?!_"

"That's the deal, Chandler. I cannot accept anything else. Neither can I pursue a man who has saved my ship and my crew from the most cruel death, nor can I endure to have the Governor pay for his services."

Chandler stared at him. "But Sir – you may not – your whole future is at stake here!"

"And I only _have_ a future because Captain Sparrow came for us in the first place. This is a matter of honour, and I value this higher than any money. Don't try to argue with me about it, I'm quite determined. But if you like, come down with me to interrogate Black; Mrs. Anamaria allows me to get up today."

Chandler couldn't suppress a laugh. "Does she? She's not as over-protective as Miss Swann, as it seems!"

"No, Miss Swann would surely demand me staying in bed for the next eight weeks, clearly! Mrs. Anamaria is far more lenient, and incidentally, utterly ingenuous. Her mother was some sort of healer in Barbados, did you know? She was accused of witchcraft by our authorities, and killed, Mr. Gibbs told me. I'm very impressed by her magnanimity, to nurse English soldiers after all she's suffered from our side!"

Chandler nodded in astonishment. For a sailor like him, women were no issue really. He faintly remembered his own mother and sisters, and for many, many years, they had been all he had had for an example. So now that he had encountered such peculiar creatures like Captain Sparrow's wife, for instance, he had to change his mind in many ways. Mrs. Anamaria, as all the English sailors called her, was outstandingly brave, a fabulous sailor, great fighter, and highly skilled nurse. Had she been a white man, she could have made a fantastic career in the Navy. As things were though, all her merits didn't bring her anywhere but on a pirate ship, because there was no other place for her.

Then there was little Miss Swann, who wouldn't fit his conception of an English lady by any rate either. She wasn't lady-like at all, she was head-strong, inconsiderate and ignorant of her own place. He had to admit that he liked her a little better after seeing her genuine concern for the Challenger's fate; he couldn't even blame her for her most extravagant idea to promise Captain Sparrow anything he would ask for. It was _silly_, but done with good intentions; he couldn't begrudge someone who behaved like that for his friend's sake.

Eventually, there was Miss Van Dyke, the divine Miss Van Dyke… He had never imagined to have ever much interest in any woman at all, and not in his dreams, he could have thought that he would ever meet one like her. She was heaven itself! Her beauty, her intelligence, her dignified air and amiable temper – there could hardly be an angel in heaven resembling this angel on earth. He was honestly glad that the sweet lady didn't have to mourn for the Commodore's loss, and once she became Mrs. Norrington, he'd be able to see her much more often, to continue their friendship in silent admiration. Wasn't this more than a man like him could hope for?

In the afternoon, he accompanied the Commodore down to the cells where the surviving pirates were imprisoned. Some of them were most pitiful creatures, formerly sailing on merchant ships that had been captured by Black. They had been forced to choose between their own gruesome deaths and the life as a pirate under Black's command, and judging their faces, they would have been better off dead. They looked haunted by what they had seen or done themselves, their mouths twisted and their eyes empty. Not so their Captain, or 'Commodore' as he styled himself. Horatio Black had a cell for himself, not because anybody thought he had to be better treated than the rest, but because he had strangled two men he had shared a cell with.

He welcomed his visitors with a contemptuous sneer, his hands tied in his back to prevent him from jumping at the officers, but his spirits unbroken. "Ah, Commodore Norrington," he drawled. "Have your injuries mended at last? How does it feel to owe one's life to a pirate?"

The Commodore sighed. "So what about _your_ injury, Captain Black?"

"The filthy bitch patched me up well enough. She was lucky that I was unconscious, or it would have been the last thing she had done in her worthless life!"

"What a pity that she should have cared in the first place! We will take you to Nassau Port and hand you over to Admiral Thompson. You've heard of him, I suppose?"

"Admiral Thompson, oh yes, the man who's most admirable quality is his incredible stupidity! Sure enough I've _heard_ of him! I owe everything to him, you know?" He gave a high-pitched giggle that let James Norrington's blood freeze, but he tried to remain unperturbed and calm.

"Will you tell us about that famous battle that you were supposed to have died in?"

"And do you a favour? Not for the world!"

"Never mind," the Commodore replied quietly, thinking he had understood how Black was to be worked upon. "We know enough to reconstruct the events ourselves. You've been defeated by Captain Filister who proposed a bargain then – your lives in return for a share of your future loot –"

He battled with himself to conceal his inner triumph when seeing Black's fury with this assumption. "Defeated?! I've _never_ been defeated!"

Obviously, this was wrong, otherwise he wouldn't have been arrested, but the Commodore refrained from making a remark and stop Black's ravings, telling him all he wanted to know now, to please his own twisted sense of pride. As it was, the Fortuna had been on the verge of a total defeat back then, half of her crew dead, and Captain Barnes determined to fight until the last man. He had received a shot in the head then, and the shooter had been no other than Filister himself. James Norrington shut his eyes for a second when hearing this revelation; he had no reason to doubt Black's report – the man was _proud_ with every man he had killed himself!

"He pleaded for the cessation of hostilities, claiming that he'd know a good bargain. I thought he was a cowardly fool, but I enjoy to see my prey begging for their lives and listened to him. It turned out that he's surely a coward, but a _smart_ coward nevertheless. He offered his assistance for our future raids, promising me to get me two more ships and keep us informed about the English Navy patrols. I don't trust idiots and asked him why I should believe that he wouldn't simply return to Nassau Port if I let him go, and come back with a whole fleet. Ah, but Filister is a sly bastard. He singled out two dozen men that he had faith in, let them come forth and ordered them to execute their fellow sailors. He knew his lot, and they obeyed him without a question. Then, he made them sign confessions, and he wrote one himself, confessing that it has been him who has shot Barnes. He handed over the letters, and I understood that he was indeed serious. Of course, he asked for a certain share of the loot, and had he demanded more, I would have killed him straight away. My men fight better when there's something in there for 'em! But like I said, Filister knows how far he can go, and I found it could be useful to have an ally like him. We agreed that my men stayed away from the area of Nassau and moved to the West, just in case. And we all gained our profit, to be sure! Filister got his promotion and more gold than he would ever have dared to dream. You Navy idiots don't get paid too much, do you? Perhaps your king should consider that loyalty can in fact be bought! And I was delivered two fine ships, that Filister had claimed to 'confiscate' from some Dutch merchants before shooting the whole lot of them. He's provided me with routes of gold frigates, information on arms and patrols, he even told me where I could find your precious Dauntless, Commodore –" He grinned maliciously. "It must hurt to lose one's ship, right?"

Chandler couldn't restrain himself any longer and punched Black right into his face, knocking the small man downright out. "Stop it!" the Commodore ranted and grabbed his Lieutenant's arm. But Black only laughed, blood dripping from his nose that appeared to be broken.

"Leave him! Let him taste a bit of my field of expertise! Not everybody is as constipated as you, Commodore Norrington, so why don't you leave the interrogation of prisoners to the real men, who hunger for screams of pain and thirst for blood?"

Chandler winced back, shuddering, and the Commodore said through gritted teeth, "It's all right, Lieutenant. Please go up and set up the report for Admiral Thompson, and inform your men to prepare for a return to Port Royal, will you?"

Chandler nodded and almost fled the place. The Commodore dragged Black up to his feet again; he was a foot taller than the pirate and bowed to face him directly now. "I will ask Mrs. Anamaria _not_ to look for your broken nose this time, knowing that you cannot suffer her care. Make sure you won't bleed to death, I would hate to see you die before we reach Nassau. Wouldn't it be a shame not to see you hang beside your friend, the Captain? You will like it, as you relish agony so much – I do not doubt that you know perfectly well how long it takes until one is dead from being hanged."

Black cackled raucously, and spat him right into the face next. James straightened up, looking disgusted. "Just for the record, Captain Black – you won't die undefeated. You seem to forget that all the time!"

He turned around and left the cell, feeling sick and besmirched, not because Black had spat at him, but for what he had heard. He addressed the guard, "If he annoys you, gag him, but only after his nose has stopped from bleeding. Do nothing that could lead to his death, if something serious happens, shoot him only into his kneecaps. Oh, and in case you are bored – read to him from the bible, I'm sure he'd be delighted!"

"Rot in hell, Norrington, you bastard!" Black was yelling behind him, but he did not turn around again.

"To be a bastard in _your_ books comes in as quite a compliment, Captain Black, thank you!"

Two days later, they parted; the Challenger set course for Nassau Port, while the Falcon and the Black Pearl were heading for Port Royal.

To make it short – Commodore Norrington reached safe haven without any more disturbances, and during the voyage, he had to learn some more dreadful stories. Black's First Mate, formerly a Spanish privateer, resolved to give all information that his superior had been so reluctant to give. Filister's plans seemed to have grown and blossomed; he had sent Black after the Dauntless back then to eliminate Commodore Norrington. It had been a risky plan, they had known that the only weak point of this flagship would be to set the powder magazines on fire. They had waited like a spider in her cobweb, sailed out in the storm against all reason to have their victim in the most vulnerable state possible, and had been rewarded with success. But Filister's scheme hadn't worked out, as the Commodore had survived after all – he had calculated that his cousin Lieutenant Gillette would be made Head of the fort and another major military base would be part of the conspiracy. He had offered him a piece of the share in return for his assistance, and Gillette had consented, aware that this was his only chance to ever advance himself anyway. But he hadn't had a share of Filister's cold blood or patience; when realising that Admiral Thompson wasn't about to degrade the Commodore, he had meant he could succeed nevertheless. Filister, worried that his not particularly bright cousin could blow his secrets up out of ill-consideration, had knocked him out with a hit in the neck and had hung him then. He had suffocated before regaining consciousness.

James Norrington had seen a lot in his years in service, he had heard many stories, and had believed himself to be rather insensitive against any crime or evil conduct. Despite his experience, he was shocked yet – he had never liked Gillette, sure, still he had meant him to be incapable of betrayal or conspiring with a man like Black. He couldn't grasp either that the Captain had been ready to murder one of his own kin, but had to see that, after going so far, Filister couldn't have turned around anyway.

They had sunk the three heavily damaged vessels right after the battle, which turned out to have been a mistake. Black had stored the confessions in his cabin, to always have his lever against Filister at hand, and the Commodore was not sure that Admiral Thompson would believe the testimonies of some pirates if they incriminated his own protégé. But then again, the proofs were still overwhelming – Black was alive, he knew things that he could only have got from a high-ranked officer. Hopefully, that would be enough to convince the Admiral.

These worries were unfounded at last; the Challenger put in Nassau Port's large harbour, easy to see for Captain Filister from his windows that faced the shore. Being the smart man that he was, he understood what it meant that Commodore Norrington was not only _not dead_, but that he had come here instead of returning to his own home base. He had no doubt that Black would have handed the confessions out – why spare them? – and had resolved long ago what he would do if that day was ever to come. He took his pistol, pressed it against his temple and pulled the trigger, void of any fear or remorse. He had played the game as far as he had come, a game with high stakes and immense profits – well, he had lost it, and a shot in the head was much better than a slow death on the gallows after all.


	21. Chapter 21

Despite her knowledge that neither the Challenger nor the Falcon could return so soon, Elizabeth had spent the chief of her days searching the horizons for some mast to appear. She had kept her promise, and went down to the hospital every morning to see after the patients there. In the afternoons though, she hadn't left her room most of the time, claiming to be unwell, and not even lying – she _had_ felt exceedingly ill and unfit for anybody's company. Not even Will had been admitted to see her then.

She had prayed for the return of the ships, but when she eventually saw the Falcon sail into the harbour, followed by the Black Pearl, her heart sank to her knees, and tears shot into her eyes at once. Where was the Challenger? There could be only one possible reason for the absence of the Challenger, and realising it, she fainted on the spot. Sarah found her like this, it confirmed her notion of her mistress' illness, and she put her to bed. Elizabeth did not resist her, she found she scarcely had the strength to go on breathing, let alone anything else.

The Challenger was lost, she knew what this had to mean – James would not come back. She sobbed, crying her eyes out, and every time when she remembered any of the horrid stories about Black, it got even worse. If she imagined _how_ James must have died, her heart would miss a beat and she felt like suffocating. And again, like when he had sailed after the Black Pearl, she felt that it was all her fault, somehow. It all wouldn't have come like that, if she hadn't acted like she had back then in summer.

The good Governor had no clue about his daughter's breakdown; he had hurried down to the harbour when spotting the ships to welcome them. He had the same idea like Elizabeth – the Challenger hadn't come with them, and this must mean that she was lost. But unlike her, his optimistic nature ordered him to hope that it was only the _ship_ that was lost, not necessarily the crew, and he lost no time to make sure about it. He didn't see the Commodore on the bridge, to his greatest dismay, but when Lieutenant Chandler stepped down to the pier two minutes later, he learnt quickly that his worries bore no truth. The Challenger _was_ safe, the Commodore in Nassau Port to hand over the prisoners, and about to return home as soon as possible. Governor Swann hadn't felt so relieved in a long time, totally forgetting about his daughter, ignorant of the idea that her sickness could be owed to the sailors' absence in fact. He followed the Lieutenant to the fort to hear what had happened and invited the officers to come up to his house in the evening to celebrate such happy news. The invitation even included some members of the crew of the Black Pearl, which was most extraordinary for the Governor indeed.

He was only startled in his felicity when coming home again and learn from Elizabeth's maid how ill his beloved daughter seemed to be, rushing up the stairs to see after her. He found her weeping silently, her cheeks tear-strained and her hands folded for a prayer; she scarcely let show that she noticed his coming.

"Darling," he cried, "What is it? Do you have any pains?"

She did not look at him, murmuring something that he couldn't hear, and he asked again, "Sarah told me she found you unconscious – have you hurt yourself?"

She softly shook her head, still staring unfocused, and muttering a little louder, "It doesn't matter –"

"_What_ doesn't matter, my dear?" he asked desperately, scared that she might have fallen on her head, causing her obvious confusion.

"Nothing matters anymore," she replied gravely, "and I deserve to be hurt. It's all my fault, all mine, and the Lord makes me suffer for my sins now…"

She _had_ fallen on her head, or caught some dreadful disease in that wretched hospital; he was utmost alarmed and on the verge of calling for Dr. Jenkins, but asked once more, in what he meant to be his most tentative voice, "What is your fault, darling?"

"Everything!" she cried, starting to sob again, "He's dead, and it's _my_ fault!"

The Governor frowned. "Who is dead?"

He received a look that was almost frightening, in return for this question. "James is dead! How can you even ask?! I've lost him, I've doomed him, I've killed him –"

"Elizabeth! Darling! Calm yourself! Listen to me – the Commodore isn't dead! What makes you think he was dead? Oh! I see –"

She couldn't stop crying at once, she was too deeply stirred for that, but she had understood. The wave of relief and gratification now engulfing her wasn't less violent than her former agony, and the poor Governor had to witness his child getting the next fit. He was at a total loss to understand her, but this wasn't new to him.

"My dearest Elizabeth… Are you crying because the Commodore has _survived_?"

"Of course not!" she coughed between two sobs. "He's alive! Praise the Lord! But where _is_ he?! Ask him to come, father, please, ask him to come up _at_ _once_!"

"I'd do whatever you wish, darling, but I'm afraid I can't call for the Commodore. He has sailed to Nassau –"

"Nassau?!"

He sat down next to her and told her everything he knew, glad that she calmed down more and more and eager to keep it like that. He realised his mistake as soon as mentioning Commodore's injuries for she gave a muffled scream.

"No, no, my darling, I _assure_ you he's all right! You know how fond Lieutenant Chandler is of the Commodore, and he gave me his word that the Commodore is quite healthy –"

"But he still let him sail to Nassau!" She pouted. "Sail to Nassau, all on his own, after being so badly injured!"

"But he _wasn't_ that badly injured –"

It was useless to argue with her, he knew from experience. She was determined to be sulking with the Lieutenant, and convinced that Commodore Norrington was heavily wounded, but she would relax in the end. She always did.

"Oh, before I forget – your friend Captain Sparrow will come for dinner. I thought you might like that?" he said before he left, and although she didn't answer, she did like it very well.

She had to figure out many things this afternoon; first of all, she rejoiced with the won battle and praised the Lord over and over again that He had answered her prayers and held His hand over James. But once she had swallowed this, she had to think of Jack next, overwhelmed with happiness that she hadn't been mistaken in him. He _had_ gone for the Challenger, he had saved them even – Jack _was_ a good man, if he liked it or not! As ill as her judgement of human nature surely was – she still blushed when recollecting her fondness of Captain Filister – at least she hadn't erred in _this_ respect. Perhaps she was no entirely hopeless case after all!

Sarah helped her to restore herself, and when they welcomed their guests in the evening, only little betrayed her earlier bad state. Her nose was still rather red from crying and her eyes blood-shot, but it would take a close observer to take notice. Ignoring all rules of propriety, and to her father's embarrassment, she hugged Jack and Anamaria when they came in, she almost embraced even Mr. Gibbs, for shooting Black before he could kill James. In the end, she shook his hand so fervently that the old sailor asked her to stop, and she laughed. With great interest, she listened to their stories about the battles, with repelled curiosity she heard Lieutenant Chandler's report – abridged for the present ladies' sake – of Black's testimony, but what she was burning to know most, she did not dare asking while they were still seated for dinner. But directly afterwards, when going over to the parlour, she could no longer hold back.

"Jack, I _knew_ you wouldn't let me – let _them_ down. But why ever did you torment me like that? When you left, I believed you gave a damn! If I had only known that you would help them –"

"Oh, when I left, I _was_ serious, love!" He grinned widely. "But thinking about it, I found your promise could come in very handy!"

"My promise?"

"You've said I could ask for just everything – Mr. Gibbs, is that what Miss Swann said or is it not?"

Mr. Gibbs nodded but did not dare to meet Elizabeth's eyes, and this one remembered her own words. "Oh, yes! So, what is it that you want?" she asked a little less enthusiastic; had she really meant Jack would do something for the mere goodness of his heart?!

"I've had a long conversation with the good Commodore about that," he went on, his eyes were sparkling with delight. "After all, you've said you'd make your father pay every sum of money –" The Governor froze dead when overhearing this, but Jack didn't pay any attention. "So I've asked the Commodore what he estimates how much money exactly I could demand, but he would not hear of it. Told me you were a bit – what did he say, Anamaria?"

"Impulsive," she replied with the same amused expression that he was displaying. "He said Miss Swann was a bit impulsive and you could impossibly take her for her word!"

"Yes, I guess these were his words. He then offered me to take on the obligation – he's _bad_ in negotiating, doesn't know a thing about it, that man! He offered me fifteen thousand pounds at once, and did not even defy when I asked for thirty-five, can you imagine?!"

Elizabeth had turned pale and was incapable to utter a single word – _thirty-five thousand pounds_?! James life was worth every sum, to be sure, but she knew that he hadn't got so much money, and it made her sick to think that it was _her_ promise that had caused him such predicament! She could have known that he would never agree to let her father pay for his rescue!

"Man of honour, but not a clue about accountancy! However, I figured his money wouldn't fully satisfy me. Must have worked half of his life for that sum, don't ya think? But there is something else that he can do for me and my crew, and I trust him to talk about it to Admiral Thompson just now."

"Admiral Thompson," she repeated, still dumbfounded.

"Yes, the Admiral… Grieved man, isn't he? To understand that his favourite officer is a scoundrel after all? Must be a terrible disappointment!"

"Yes, yes, but what is it now that you've asked him for?!" she cried impatiently, only a little gratified that Jack apparently wasn't about to ruin James.

"Clemency," he said simply, and Elizabeth gaped at him.

"Clemency?"

"Yes, _clemency_! I've thought I could become respectable, too – of course, I'll never be only half as respectable as the good Commodore, but half of his holier than thou attitude ought to suffice for us common mortals. He's negotiating an amnesty for me, you know, and I can only hope that he's doing it better than when he's been negotiating about his own money!"

"But – but – you're a _pirate_, Jack! What about – the Black Pearl means freedom and all that?"

"I don't mean to give that up, darling!"

"But then it's useless to ask the Admiral for an amnesty, isn't it? Just go now, then!"

"Oh, you don't get it. I intend to become a righteous privateer. Savvy?"

Elizabeth burst out laughing. "A privateer?! Well, I think it's just another branch in the trade!"

"Exactly, love, I knew you'd understand! Your friend the Commodore needed some more persuasion!"

"Because he's a sensible man. I'm foolish enough to know you're daft!"

Anamaria chuckled heartily. "The girl looks right through you, Jack! Oh, by the way – I never had the occasion to thank you, Miss Swann!"

She pointed at her neck, revealing the golden cross Elizabeth had given to her. This one beamed back at her. "No, please, do not thank me! _I_ have to be grateful, you see? I wanted to give you the earrings as well, but Jack was in a hurry that night, and I couldn't find them so quickly. But now I've found them, so – regard them as a late wedding gift or so!"

She presented a pair of ruby earrings, and Anamaria blushed badly, refusing to take them.

"Oh please, you must!" Elizabeth insisted fiercely. "They belong to the necklace anyway. And if you do not like them at all – keep them and sell them in case Jack's career as a privateer doesn't turn out a success!"

"Well – thank you! I don't quite know what to say!"

"Say nothing, my dear Anamaria! If it wasn't for your help, I'd never be happy again, I suppose some earrings are little compared to that!"

Governor Swann held himself remarkably well, considering his unusual guests. By no means, he was used to pirates in his house, and he did not mean to make a habit out of it. But for a start, Captain Sparrow had acted very proper in rescuing the Challenger, and then, if he was serious about becoming a privateer, he soon would be a pirate no more, right? Nevertheless, their whole appearance was disturbing – only the woman that appeared to be the Captain's wife passing as decent. Unlike Mr. Gibbs or Jack Sparrow, she had put some effort to dress up for the event, she wore a red dress, plain and not comparable to Elizabeth's robes, but neat and clean nevertheless. Her two companions gave the most bizarre sight in the Governor's pompous parlour, ragged and dirty, and more gold flashing in the Captain's mouth, than Elizabeth wore for jewellery. He strongly suspected that they hadn't taken a bath in _years_. However, they were his guests now and he took every pains to make them feel at home and be a good host.

"You wish to turn a privateer, Captain Sparrow? How extraordinary!"

"You find? And I've meant there were plenty of them!"

"Well, yes, there are certainly. And regarding the latest developments about the French and the Spanish crown, there'll be need for many, many more."

"See, that's what _I_ thought, too! Wouldn't it be a nice thing for a change to rob a Spanish gold frigate and _not_ be sentenced to death for it?"

"It isn't about robbery, Captain, you'd serve the English Crown in doing so!" the Governor replied, consternated.

"And I shall enjoy doing so – but in my point of view, there's not much of a difference. Haven't I served His Majesty each time I've disabled a ship from taking her freight to Spain?"

"Well – one _could_ see it like that, of course –" Governor Swann wasn't good in rhetoric, and absolutely not accustomed to cheeky remarks, apart from his own daughter.

"I've heard you were engaged, Miss Swann," Anamaria asked softly; Jack was genuinely amazed how civil his sweetheart could be if only she wanted. Not for a second he believed her normal lack of politeness could have anything to do with _him_.

"Yes, I am," Elizabeth answered, putting up her best smile. "But please, don't call me Miss Swann, it's so formal! I'm simply Elizabeth!"

"I _told_ you, love, didn't I? She's about to marry the puppy!"

"Sh, Jack, keep your tongue when two ladies are conversing!"

"Ladies? I see no –"

"Oh, _shut up_!" Anamaria scowled at him, but wasn't really angry, turning to Elizabeth again. "So, when are you going to marry?"

"I don't know… In five years, perhaps?"

"Five _years_? That's a hell of a long time!"

"Oh well… It'll pass, and maybe – maybe it's good like that, don't you think?"

It was written all over Anamaria's face that she did _not_ think so, and Jack chuckled roguishly. "Oh, it's fine! Very much time to make up one's mind! You must know, love, dear Elizabeth _likes_ to change her mind –"

'Dear Elizabeth' turned pink; there was no way defying the comment, so she merely muttered, "I've sworn to better myself, Jack. Give it a rest!"

"It's no fault to change one's mind when one realises that one was wrong," he retorted with his forefinger raised and gesticulating, "Sign of the grown-up mind it is!"

"So you must be very grown up, Jack," Anamaria shook her head, "Don't listen to him, Miss – Elizabeth."

She tried to bear that advise in mind, but she couldn't help it. Whenever she was reminded of that particular change of mind, she was burning with guilt and shame and a strange feeling of suffocation.

"A thought just rushed to my mind, Captain Sparrow," the Governor cried and approached them. "What if the good Commodore does not succeed in making the Admiral pardon you?"

"Well, then the good Commodore is going to make up for it. He has promised me half of his fortune for compensation if he fails with the Admiral!"

On some occasions, Elizabeth Swann needed no corset to sink, and this was one of these moments. She was caught by the Captain and his wife, her father hurried to have some smelling salts brought to revive her, mumbling something that she had been quite ill recently, but Jack Sparrow only sniggered.

"Yes, I can imagine, Governor! Your daughter is always most anxious for those she loves!"


	22. Chapter 22

The day of Lieutenant Chandler's return had been hectic and busy; he had to supervise all dealings, to inform the Governor and follow that one's invitation in the evening. He'd rather have paid lovely Miss Van Dyke a visit to tell her all that had happened, and most of all, to be the one to bring her the good news that the Commodore was alive and healthy. The next day, he could refrain no longer and headed over to her parents' house. She almost seemed to have waited for him, welcoming him warmly and leading him to the parlour.

"It's so good to see you!" She smiled. "You can't imagine how worried I've been!"

"Very understandable, but I assure you, the Commodore is very well. He's got over his injuries almost instantly."

She looked slightly puzzled. "Oh – that's splendid! I didn't even know he got injured… So what about you?"

"The Falcon was too late for the battle, had it been only up to us to help, the Challenger would have been lost. You have Captain Sparrow to thank that it hasn't come like this."

"Captain Sparrow and the Lord, yes. Although I must say I'm almost glad that you were too late, as you say. I've only heard some servants' gossip, but this Captain Black is a dangerous man, is he not?"

"He is certainly. The Commodore was very lucky."

"Yes, he was, and isn't it even luckier that you haven't been there? Oh, I must not think of it!"

Now it was Chandler who was astonished, and he knew nothing better to say than, "I would have been glad to fight for my Captain, Miss –"

"You are very fond of the Commodore, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, very much indeed. He's more than just a superior, he's almost – a friend, if I may be so bold to say so. But why do you ask me that?"

"Well," she chuckled, "because you talk about him so much!"

He felt the heat rising to his face, "Do I? Oh – well, I've thought you'd like to hear about him…"

"I do like to hear about the Challenger, yes, and the Commodore is a very good man, but – what makes you think I'd be particularly interested to hear about him?" She looked quizzically and straight to his eyes. He had to avert his gaze, incapable to find an instant answer.

"Uhm – you see – er… Just what people keep talking…"

"And what _are_ they talking, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, you know!"

"Apparently I do not. What do they say then?"

"Well, that you – and the Commodore – you know…" he murmured almost inaudibly, still avoiding to look at her.

She gave a bright laugh. "So that's what they say? The Commodore and me? But that's ridiculous!"

His eyes darted up, finding her utterly amused. "Ridiculous? No, I don't think so – why do you say that?"

"It's always like that with people's gossip – the last persons to hear about themselves are those in question! I severely doubt that Commodore would be happy to hear any such presumptions, and neither am I!"

"I do understand your delicate sense of propriety, Miss –"

"I'm not speaking of _propriety_, Lieutenant! I like Commodore Norrington very well, and I suppose he likes me too, but I assure you, that is _all _there is to it! He's not ceasing to love Miss Swann, and I –"

She stopped, now turning down her gaze herself. She was hurt, he could see that, and it grieved him to watch her like that. Darned Miss Swann, why was it always Miss Swann, Miss Swann, Miss Swann!

"Miss Van Dyke, you can believe me, he'll forget Miss Swann soon enough! You needn't – you mustn't – aggravate yourself because of that –"

"_Aggravate_ myself? But Sir – let me clarify some things!" She turned her look back on him, it was almost a glare. "You seem to be labouring under the _false_ impression that I had some feelings for Commodore Norrington, which I have not. I have the highest regard for him, he is an entirely amiable man, I can't deny any such claim, and not too long ago, I would have declared firmly that this was enough to form a marriage upon. I was mistaken. The Commodore has _not_ captured my heart, and I dare say, he has no intention to ever do so much as _try_ it. I'd be very unhappy if he did, for it would grieve me to cause such a good man any uneasiness by refusing him!"

He goggled at her, at a total loss for words, finally managing to stammer, "You – don't – I see!"

"Did you believe that as well?"

He couldn't bear to watch her and turned away; this was all a little much for him. On the one hand, he felt exceedingly uneasy with her revelation – he feared the Commodore to be disappointed _again_, after Chandler himself had talked him into the whole story! But on the other hand, his heart seemed to burst with joy – she did not love the Commodore! That meant nothing in respect of himself, naturally, but to think of her unattached to anybody was nevertheless –

"_Did_ you believe it, Lieutenant Chandler?"

"Well, I must admit I did!" he sighed, pretending sudden and strong interest in one of the portraits on the wall. He didn't know what else to do. He heard her snigger, but there was a tinge of sadness in it.

"I understand… You are the Commodore's friend, and you wished to promote his happiness, yes. That's very good of you, and I'm sorry to disappoint your expectations in me."

He murmured some excuses and escaped as fast as he could. This was – he couldn't say himself. He was mostly angry with himself, for a whole variety of reasons. Foremost – why hadn't he kept his mouth? Why had he ever introduced the topic to his friend? The Commodore had never thought of Miss Van Dyke until _he_ had mentioned her! Mention – ha! He had almost talked him into fancying her, emphasising her qualities on every possible occasion! He had been ready to _swear_ that the lovely lady would just _wait_ for a proposal! And now?

The next thing was that he was deadly sure that she was angry with him for his interference. The way she had looked at him when he had hurried away – she had been glad that he had left, without doubt. Terrible, most terrible! But what should he do to reconcile?

He did not dare to pay another visit, he didn't meet her accidentally either, and more than a week should pass without seeing only so much as a trace of her. He had hoped that this would calm his poor nerves a little, but it didn't. He meant to see her everywhere, just to realise in the next moment that he had deceived himself. He was plain miserable.

The Challenger returned two days before Christmas, and after the news of Captain Black's defeat had spread with the speed of an arrow around the town, almost everybody ran down to the harbour to welcome the victorious crew. Not even the other soldiers could refrain from such enthusiasm, running a bit slower maybe, but running nevertheless. Chandler saw the Commodore's puzzled expression when descending the leeway, and he had scarcely touched solid grounds – the Lieutenant being far from welcoming him yet – when little Miss Swann was already almost jumping at him.

"James!" She tried to keep her voice down, and failed. "I've thought I should never see you again!"

Lieutenant Chandler rolled his eyes, her father shut his with embarrassment, and the Commodore – well, he stared at her while she kissed his hand in great animation. "Miss Swann! Er… Thank you for your friendly welcome –"

"Oh, never mind! How _are_ you? You've been injured – is it bad? Are you all right? You know you are always welcome in our house if –"

He laughed softly. "Miss Swann, thank you very much, but I really think it's unnecessary. Believe me, I'm fine, I've never been better. No need for –"

"You should see Dr. Jennings nevertheless! One can never know!"

"Elizabeth, darling," the Governor coughed delicately and tried to pull her away. "Allow the Commodore to fully arrive before you occupy him entirely!"

She blushed, James Norrington smiled wryly, Chandler shook his head. This girl! He saluted to his superior, and pretty much in order, they would have headed for the fort if it hadn't been for the cheering crowds around them. It was incredible how many inhabitants Port Royal had, if one thought about it. There seemed to be roughly a thousand people gathered on the docks, all hailing the glorious victors.

"What is this," the Commodore asked under his breath, "What do all those people _want_ here?"

"Don't blame me, Sir! By now, every child tells the story of your defeat of Black," Chandler answered just as quietly.

"But we _haven't_ defeated Black – that he's dead isn't owed to _us_!"

"They don't care, and they missed to celebrate Captain Sparrow. Leave them their fun, I'd say!"

"And _I'd_ say this is utmost embarrassing!"

"But they won't stop anyway. You can set up a bulletin later." Chandler grinned; he found it right that crew and Captain were honoured. They had won a hundred battles without further acknowledgement, if they were praised now for one they hadn't won themselves, it was just as well. Behind them, the Governor walked next to his daughter, who was terribly excited and fidgety.

"My dear, calm yourself! Did you have too much coffee this morning?" Governor Swann whispered in concern.

"I don't know," she replied absent-mindedly. "I must have, I reckon…"

"I've _told_ Scott not to give you too much coffee!"

"Beg you pardon, father, what did you say?"

He moaned, but she didn't listen anyway. Her eyes were fixed on the tall figure before her; he was alive, he was here, he at least promised he was all right – her heart was swelling with joy. She observed him closely, spying for any possible trace of an injury, but he walked just as straight and dignified as always. She would have to take a close look at his face again to make really sure!

She had always tried to stay away from consultations; whenever something happened in the fort, or one of the ships came back, the Head of the fort would report to the Governor. And vice versa, this one kept the soldiers well informed about every possible matter in the town. Normally, these meetings were lethally boring. Nothing ever really happened, and _if_ there had been a battle, she had usually been denied to attend – the only times when she would have been curious. Today, no power of persuasion, nor her father's soft urgings could drive Miss Swann away. She had heard the story a dozen times, but she wanted to hear it once more from James himself, and doing so, she'd watch out whether he was _truly_ well, and if not –

The Commodore wasn't oblivious of her close surveillance, rather the opposite – it made him thoroughly nervous, and he tried to look wherever, just not to meet her eyes. After a while, he was almost ready to believe himself that something was indeed wrong with him. And even if he was perfectly fine – he was still rather sure he was – if she went on like that, he'd fall apart soon. He'd rather have another fight with Captain Black than standing up to Elizabeth's inquiring glances, they were unsettling him so much more!

"What about your new ship, Commodore?" the Governor asked sweetly. "Is it as good as the Dauntless?"

Ah, the ship! A safe matter; Elizabeth could impossibly read any injury out of _that_ topic! "She certainly is, Sir. She withstood the attacks without further damage, nothing that couldn't be mended in a day or two. Most of it has been done in Nassau Port anyway. Yes, the Challenger is after all a very proper successor for the Dauntless!"

"I'm glad to hear that!" Governor Swann smiled, satisfied with the reply. His daughter however was not; she had grown to strongly disliking the Challenger, she could not say why, and found it unsuitable to do as much as _compare_ her to the Dauntless, let alone hear her being praised! How could James state she was a proper replacement?!

"Speaking of Nassau – what did the Admiral say?"

"As you can imagine, he wasn't very pleased. Infuriated would still be quite euphemistic, I'd say. But after hearing everything, he eventually calmed down, enough at least to grant Captain Sparrow and his crew a full amnesty, and in the end, he even pardoned two of Black's men. Well, rather say boys, one was only thirteen and the other fifteen. They had been midshipmen on the last ship Black has preyed on and were so deadly afraid that they followed him. But I've got the written testimony of seven other crew members that they've never committed any crime themselves so far other than following Black instead of being killed by him, and the Admiral let them go at last."

Had he looked at Elizabeth while speaking, he would have seen her glow with relief; she had never liked the Admiral and thought him to be void of every sense or helpfulness. She had been almost sure that the Commodore would give every pound he possessed to Jack due to her unguarded promise, and she wouldn't have been able to forgive herself for it. However, he did not look, and neither did her father who beamed now.

"Good of him! But what about Black?"

"He was hanged directly the next day."

"Very good – and Captain Filister?"

"There was no more opportunity to even interrogate him. He died by his own hands from a shot in the head. We hadn't yet anchored. But Admiral Thompson got his whole old crew arrested, they're waiting for their trials."

"Guilty conscience," the Governor muttered dismayed.

"You could see it like that, I suppose. But one thing… Apparently, he had even more blood on his hands than we've expected. He –" the Commodore swallowed hard and looked on his own shoes, "He's killed Lieutenant Gillette when he found this one to be of no further use for his purposes, and became a risk –"

He explained it in some words, leaving not even Chandler unperturbed. Elizabeth was shaken with the disclosure, clinging to her father's arm and feeling on the verge of fainting. Good Lord!

"Miss Swann, are you unwell? I'm afraid you shouldn't have heard that – can I get you a glass of water? Do you wish to lie down?" he asked almost hopefully. She _had_ to go, he couldn't endure her worried gaze much longer, it caused him to feel like burning.

"No, no! I'm fine, really," she retorted weakly and tried to smile. "Or – yes, a glass of water will be just perfect!"

He was glad to have something to do that gave him a chance to conceal his face, and with much more caution than necessary, he poured a glass and handed it over to her. Her fingers were trembling, he could _feel_ that she was looking in his face, but he looked only at her hand and made a small bow then.

"In case you change your mind, the guard will take you home instantly –"

"Yes, thank you, I will ask for it if I need it!"

Before the Governor left at last with his lovely daughter, he invited both the Commodore and Lieutenant Chandler to come to his house for dinner in the evening. He was obliging and kind as ever, but Commodore Norrington shook his head quite firmly.

"Thank you very much, Sir, but I think that's impossible. There's a lot I have to do and many, many things I have to talk to the Lieutenant about. It would suffer no delay. I'm really sorry, but I have to turn your gracious invitation down," he said quickly, still avoiding to look at Elizabeth. By no means he would manage to spend an entire evening in her company, as much as he had longed to see her again.

"But you can still do that tomorrow!" she cried, and he shook his head.

"I'm very sorry, Miss Swann, but it's Christmas." Fully aware how feeble an excuse this was, he pretended to look through the papers on his desk. "These things have to be done before that!"

Chandler wondered what on earth the Commodore could be talking about, understanding that there was little truth in it – but he wasn't keen on an evening with the Swanns either and refrained from making a remark.

"But then you must come to dine with us the day after tomorrow!"

He couldn't suppress a smile. "Yes, thank you very much. The day after tomorrow would be just splendid!"

"Fantastic! I'll have your word for that, James – Commodore Norrington, I mean!"

Her father gave a little start with her address and pushed her gently out of the office, bidding the officers good-bye. Only when he had shut the door, the Commodore exhaled from the depth of his heart, hearing the Lieutenant snigger. "So what is it that you have to talk to me about that is so terribly urgent and suffers no delay? The Christmas menu for the officers?"

He preferred to shrug vaguely. "I simply do not feel too well, and Miss Swann would make a big thing out of it if I told her, that's all –"

"_That_ girl is bound to make a big thing out of everything, Sir!"

"Don't you always be so harsh on her, Chandler!"

"My apologies, Sir, but I think I might be less harsh on her if you were less indulgent!"

"So we have a problem then, for I shall always be indulgent with Miss Swann, and will _not_ have her be abused by anyone, not even by you! Did I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir, I'm sorry!" He bit his lip and mused for some moments before speaking again. "Sir," he said tentatively, "could I ask you some very personal things? You mustn't be angry with me, please, but –"

"Out with it, Chandler! I've always appreciated your frankness, you know that."

"Am I entirely mistaken to presume that you still foster some – well, feelings for Miss Swann then?"

The Commodore sighed and closed his eyes, murmuring at last, "You aren't mistaken, I'm afraid. But please spare me your sermon now, will you?"

"Oh no, I wasn't about to do so! That's good, I guess –"

James Norrington shot him a surprised look – those were very new tunes coming from his First Lieutenant there! This one went on with his stammering, "For I must make the most awkward confession to you – erm… You might remember what I've said to you relating to Miss Van Dyke – do you?"

He couldn't but laugh. "Oh yes, surely! You want me to marry the lady!"

"Do you still have any – intention of proposing to her then?"

"I've never had one to begin with! _You_ wanted me to marry her, have you forgotten?"

"No, not at all. However, I'm very glad to hear that! Excuse me once again to intrude in your private affairs!"

The Commodore grinned despite himself. "So why did you ask me then? What _confession_ that you wanted to make is in such a question?"

"Oh, well – you see – I happened to talk to Miss Van Dyke lately and – and –"

"_And_…?"

"She sort of mentioned – how shall I say – well, it turned out that I had been totally mistaken concerning her possible attachment to you…" Chandler vowed inwardly to undertake ten night-shifts if he could only get through with this as quickly as possible. But his superior laughed heartily, indeed, he was shaking with laughter now.

"How lucky that I didn't listen to you then, isn't it? Honestly, I don't know how I would have taken another refusal after all!"

"Yes, don't listen to me by any rate, Sir! I obviously have not the slightest idea about these things. I'm a sailor, I lack every talent to decipher young ladies' notions…"

"Well, I can only hope you've learnt that lesson! But tell me, I'm curious – how did that – _conversation_ – come about? Did she mention in passing that I was the last man on earth that she considered to marry?" He thought he had a very clear idea what sort of consultation Chandler had had with the fair lady; he had suspected this for some time now, but he had been mistaken, too. The Lieutenant roughly sketched the contents of his last talking to Miss Van Dyke, and James Norrington was torn between bewilderment and sheer amusement.

"My dear Chandler," he said in the end, "can _I_ ask you something very personal? Have you ever mused for five minutes only _why on earth_ you should care whom Miss Van Dyke is going to marry?"

His officer blushed badly. "I was concerned for your well-being after – the disaster –"

"That's nice, thank you very much, but nevertheless! Are you truly telling me – or yourself for that instance – that you've only talked to Miss Van Dyke about these matters out of concern for me?!"

"Well, yes –"

The Commodore went on impassively, "And not for a single moment, it ever came to your mind that _you_ could have more feelings for the lady than me in fact? No? Nothing?"

Poor Chandler gave the distinct impression that he was ready to sink in just any hole in the ground that had the grace to pop up there. "Sir – do not mistake me – I – _have_ a very high regard for Miss Van Dyke, how could I not? I mean, she's an angel, isn't she? But when I first suggested her to you, I hadn't quite realised that yet… Besides, it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"It doesn't _matter_? You know what you're saying there?"

"Miss Van Dyke is a _lady_, Sir," the Lieutenant murmured helplessly.

"Yes, I've noticed _that_! So?"

"I could impossibly – _never_ – do so much as _think_ of – well, erm – proposing to her!"

"Obviously you cannot even _speak_ about it, Chandler, but let me tell you something – according to my experience, it's _always_ like that! It took me _weeks_ to dare asking Miss Swann – well, admittedly, that's a bad example now, but nevertheless. Believe me, only a man who isn't truly in love has no scruples of asking his lady, it's a sort of natural rule, I guess!"

Chandler's complexion was altering between scarlet and white. "But Sir!" he cried pleadingly, "You don't understand that she – if she doesn't want to marry _you_, how could _I_ even think about it!"

This remark flattened even the Commodore's wits, and he goggled at him dumbfounded. "Beg you pardon? What's the one thing to do with the other?"

"Sir, _look_ at it! You're the Head of the fort, you're famous for your many victories, you're rich and have a reputation to be the best person on this whole darned rock of an island! If she was ready to refuse _you_, I could never ask her!"

James took a deep breath before answering, "For a start, Chandler – it's a very bad precondition to mean that only a woman who would want to marry _me_ could be asked to marry _you_ instead. By no means – listen to me, I'm very serious! – by _no_ means you should choose a wife who would want to marry somebody else but you. Trust my words, I have some painful experience in this sector! And as we're already speaking of said experience anyway – did you notice that with all my alleged merits and riches, Miss Swann _still_ prefers to accept a poor blacksmith instead of me? Did you never get the notion that merits and money could have nothing to do with it?"

The poor man was speechless; no, he indeed had never given it much thought. Miss Swann was mad, that was all, otherwise she _would_ have accepted the Commodore! "But Sir," he sadly began again after a while, "I'm nothing but a farmer's son in the end. I could never be so bold and woe a true lady…"

"Nonsense! You may well be a farmer's son, but now you are the First Lieutenant on one of Great Britain's most famous flagships, and it was only yourself who has brought you there! No father's money has bought you commissions, no relations have advanced you anywhere! Talking about merits, are we? You began as a _midshipman_ when I first met you, ten years ago! _I've_ never laboured on deck, _my_ father made sure that his son would start as an officer straight away! Comparing your career and mine, you cannot overlook that you've come further than me in far less time, and only by your talents! Admiral Thompson hinted that you'll be made Captain sometime next year, the Falcon will be yours then, and you will have a fortune of your own!"

Chandler shrugged in terrible awkwardness, "I can't deny there's a grain of truth in that, perhaps, Sir, but nevertheless – she doesn't want me anyway, no matter how rosy you colour me now!"

"How can you be so sure about that?" Commodore Norrington was truly annoyed, he couldn't say himself why. "You've never asked her, clearly, you don't even seem to have a very good perceptions of her preferences, or you wouldn't have wanted _me_ to propose to her! Did it not occur to you for one second at least that the little lady might have been so irritated as you've described her from your last meeting because she was _disappointed_?"

"But why should she have been disappointed then, I was as civil as I could be –"

"In case she really liked you, she might have found it no exact civility to understand that during all your apparent visits and consultations and whatever – that you've never seemed to have anything else in mind than act the postillion d'amour for somebody else!"

The good Lieutenant left not very long after this heated discussion, so thoroughly confused that he hardly knew himself what he was going to do next. His superior and friend was left behind wondering whether he had blessed or cursed the young man – but wasn't it always good to know for sure? If he had never asked Elizabeth, he would always have been forced to live with the lingering doubt that it might have made a difference. As tragic as it was still for him – he preferred to know her _just_ as happy as she could be, and have no suspect that she could be happier with him, let alone his own emotions…


	23. Chapter 23

On Christmas morning, Elizabeth Swann accompanied her father to church. In all those years, she still hadn't accustomed herself to the climate – she didn't mind it all year, but around Christmas, she found it truly disturbing. She remembered the snowy hills, the blistering cold, the sleigh rides and the Christmas trees of her childhood in England – naturally, Christmas in the Caribbean wasn't anything like that. The only thing that had remained from the rites she had enjoyed so much as a child was the service on Christmas morning, and she was grateful for it. The rest of the year, she wasn't very religious, only when she saw no more other way actually, like in the last few months, but on this particular day, she was dearly looking forward to the sombre atmosphere, the melancholic organ, the solemn air. Even Reverend Martin's otherwise so tiresome sermons appeared like pearls of wisdom on Christmas day in Elizabeth Swann's eyes, and that was saying something!

This morning had brought her the most generous gift her father could have given her, and she was still so stunned with it that she couldn't even feel as happy as she out to be. The Governor had given his promise that he would make over half of his fortune – forty thousand pounds roughly! – to her on her twenty-first birthday, which was only eighteen month ahead of her. This meant that she could marry Will much sooner than expected – once she had overcome his sure remonstrance, of course. She should have danced with joy, but perhaps it was because she was actually _overwhelmed_ with so much of it that dancing was out of question, perhaps she had to get used to the idea before being capable to fully understand the extent of both the gift and the linked felicity, she couldn't say. She would tell Will after the service and see what he was to say. She half hoped that his reaction would match hers; everything else would overtax her recently poor nerves.

The Governor was mildly astonished with his beloved daughter's reaction – he had expected her to be out of herself with happiness. The latest events had killed his last hopes to prevent Elizabeth's marriage to the boy, and he shuddered with his own wish to make her fall in love with Captain Filister. Had he truly wanted to detach her from a decent and good-hearted man for the sake of a scoundrel in disguise? If nothing else, this was enough to convince even Governor Swann that his interference wasn't only useless but downright dangerous. He had seen how concerned his dear child had been in the last time, and it had been his genuine wish to relieve her from some sorrows at last by enabling her and her suitor to be united as soon as possible. Perhaps Will Turner was only a craftsman, but at least they would be able to live adequately with her money, and he did not doubt that the boy would do everything to show himself worthy of her nevertheless. Why Elizabeth was so reserved about all of this now must be unintelligible to him, and he sighed. He had long lost every hope to understand her, but he trusted her judgement more than his own.

She took place next to her father on their usual seats in the left-hand front-row of the chapel, spotting James directly opposite of her and shooting him a smile, next, she also saw Will sitting somewhere further down the aisle. He waved at her, and she nearly would have returned the gesture, but recollecting where she was, she merely smiled and put a finger to her lips to mime him being silent. He nodded instantly, and then, she somehow forgot about him. She was touched as always by the ceremony, faintly musing whether it hadn't caused much devastation among the ancient sailors when the Bethlehem star had appeared in the night skies – perhaps a natural question for a girl who had grown up among Navy officers in a harbour town; and when the Reverend began with his sermon, she folded her hands in silent reverence.

"The incarnation of Jesus Christ was the greatest, the ultimate sign of God's love for his church," he spoke very solemnly, putting emphasise on almost every word, "that we celebrate each year on our Lord's birthday…"

Perhaps no pearls of wisdom this year? She let her eyes wander a bit and scanned the congregation, seeing Henrietta but averting her eyes before this one met her gaze, there was Dr. Jenkins with his wife, over there Rebecca Mason, born Martin, with her little baby daughter that was sleeping soundly with her grandfather's melodious bass… She returned to peek at Henrietta, who looked remarkably well this morning – in fact, Elizabeth meant to have never seen her look _so_ good before. The noble paleness of her porcelain complexion had given way to a soft rosy shimmer, her eyes glowing even brighter – Elizabeth didn't know whether to admire her beauty or envy her. It pained her to think like that – _envy_ Henrietta? She had considered her to be her best friend for more than eight years now, so what had torn them apart after all? What could make her be so malicious when spotting her friend's beauty now? They hadn't met for several months, and if she was honest with herself, she missed her friend excessively. Will couldn't replace her, nobody could. Henrietta looked up in this moment and Elizabeth hurried to observe her own hands.

"The Lord has shown us the meaning of love, of all different kinds of love," Reverend Martin boomed softly, and being her romantic self, Elizabeth resolved to pay some more attention again. "For there are as many different ways to love as there are human beings strolling upon His earth, and only He can know them all. There are the parents who love their children, or the child's love for them. There is the love among friends, among brothers and sisters – just think of all the different _words_ we've found to describe it! There's love, affection, attachment, care, fancy or infatuation, our French brethren say l'amour, the Italians say amore, the Spanish call it amore, too, the Germans named it Liebe – and the Holy Book spelled _caritas_. It is the greatest of our Lord's mysteries, whatever name you may have for it. And then, there is the love between men and women, coming in even more variations –"

Elizabeth's eyes had trailed back to Henrietta when the Reverend had spoken about the love between friends; this one hadn't looked up but smiled to herself, and for some seconds Elizabeth had wondered whether her friend was thinking of the same like her right now. But when Reverend Martin referred to the 'love between men and women', Henrietta _did_ look up, literally beaming and shooting somebody a delighted smile, and with the most terrible sensation, Elizabeth followed her friend's gaze, finding her worst misgivings confirmed at once. She could see nothing else but James; he was looking into Henrietta's direction from the corner of his eyes, a gentle smirk playing around his lips. A heavy iron load had dropped on Elizabeth, witnessing this silent proof of agreement, and it got only worse when noticing the Lieutenant, who sat next to James, reaching out for that one's hand and pressing it briefly. She would have been appalled with such a demonstration during the Holy service, but she felt too weak for being outraged, indeed, she felt all dizzy and nauseated all of a sudden.

The rest of the ceremony passed by in a haze; Elizabeth _couldn't_ look up only once more; she had to restrain herself not to jump up and run out of the church at once. She would not even have noticed when it was all over, hadn't it been for her father, who pulled her to her feet and asked quietly, "My darling, is something wrong? You're so pale!"

She goggled at him, unable to speak – she hadn't heard his question in the first place.

"Oh dear, you _really_ should drink less coffee! It does you no good!"

She had forgotten that she had intended to speak to Will after the service, even if she had not, she would have been incapable of uttering a single useful word. The carriage took them home; Elisabeth made every use of her fan to conceal her face from her worried father, who seemed to have forgotten about it anyway. But she had not; she was confused and low, everything in her head seemed to be spinning around and she couldn't grasp any rational thought at all. She wouldn't have managed to get into the house if she hadn't clung to her father's arm; he led her to the parlour and left to have a word with Scott, and somewhere in the outskirts of her mind, Elizabeth understood that he wanted to talk to him about coffee or something like that, but she really couldn't be bothered to figure it out just now.

She stared out of the window for hours without focus, feeling insufferably tense without knowing exactly why, tense and worried and unhappy. She tried to tell herself to be calm, but she couldn't. She also tried to think of dear Will, her sweet fiancé, but it would not do, it wasn't cheering her up at all but only increased her uneasiness. The last months had brought much troubles, admittedly, but shouldn't she lighten up now, when it was all over? She needed no longer worry for James, or Jack, even her marriage had drawn near to the foreseeable future. She tried to explore the reasons for her malcontent – was it because of Henrietta?

Yes, she suffered from not talking to this one for so long, but then – she couldn't imagine to reconcile with her either. She had seen that confidential glance between her friend and James, and it pained her beyond expression. James mustn't marry Henrietta, it was evil itself! She knew that she had been unjust against her old friend; basically, Hen had many good qualities, there could be no true doubt about it but… No, she still wasn't good enough for him. She was so cool, so constrained – she'd do him no good!

A nagging suspect was taking hold of her – what woman would ever be good enough for James? What woman could match such excellence, such generosity, such pure superiority of sense and conduct? He wasn't simply, like Henrietta had said so often, a 'smart match' – such a term did him utter injustice, and it was agony to think that any woman regarding him only as a 'smart match', should marry him! He deserved nothing but the most honest affection, the highest regard and unaffected admiration of all his virtues!

She felt utterly sick and went away from the window, letting herself fall into one of the armchairs. But the dizziness would not cease and she covered her eyes with her hands. Jack's words came to her mind; that he had met hundreds of women on his many voyages, that he had fancied himself in love with many of them - but that none had ever affected him like Anamaria. Why did she have to think of that right now?

When there were different kinds of love, which was pretty much the only thing she could remember from Reverend Martin's sermon – wasn't it right to ask that only those people who matched in theirs should marry? Henrietta had so often declared that she could have respect and regard for a man, but surely not more. But James was capable of so much more. He _had_ loved herself once, hadn't he? Hadn't she seen it in his eyes, when he had looked at her? Hadn't all these little gestures and big sacrifices proven it? Although she had been tied to him by honour, he had given her free because he, being so much wiser than herself, had known about these different kinds of love. Oh James, dearest, sweetest, best of all men!

She caught herself with that idea and froze – had she really just thought that? What about Will?! Wasn't _he_ the best of all men? After all, she was about to marry him! She had broken James' heart because of him! That idea worsened her nausea only more and she choked. She _had_ broken his heart because of Will, but now that she was comparing the two of them… Will was wonderful, he was everything, but – compared to James –

Oh Lord! She felt like breaking down with this realisation, and luckily, she was already seated – _James_! Had she really abandoned the best man in the whole world?! She knew she had, but in this moment, she was simply stunned with her own _incredible_ stupidity, idiocy, cruelty, there was no word to describe it! She remembered all those moments, when she could have _known_ her own heart, but had utterly failed it!

Speaking of different kinds of love; she had fancied Will, she had found him charming and sweet, she had raved about his beautiful brown eyes – but that wasn't _love_, was it? It was infatuation, and that was something very different from true love, she found all of a sudden. Had she ever held the same regard for him as for James? Why hadn't she noticed when James had become more important to her than Will, than any other person? How could she have been so blind?

Will had been her companion of childhood days, the first real friend after leaving England, when she had felt very much alone indeed. Back then, James had been a grown-up man already, treating her with all due politeness for being the Governor's daughter, but nothing else, of course. Will on the other hand had been just as lonesome as herself, puzzled and shocked by pretty much everything around him in their new environment. He had been _there_, they had been allies, and when she had read her first romance novels, he had been the only possible target for all gushing that had come with it. This _was_ love in a way, but hadn't the Reverend spoken about love between brothers and sisters? Will was like a brother for her, a very good-looking, sweet and humble brother, but… Now she comprehended her own uneasiness, her idea that it might be good if they didn't hurry to get married. But why – how! – could she have deserted James then? How could she have stuck a dagger into the best of all hearts?!

With a self-knowledge that was more than painful, she knew that she was no patch on him, she had always known, as long at least as being aware that he had loved her. He was still the grown-up man that he had been in her childhood days; he had become Captain with twenty-six – incredibly old from the perspective of a thirteen year-old girl, and when he had been made Commodore at thirty-two, she had still felt not much older than precisely this thirteen year old, playing hide-and-seek with Will and Hen in the gardens, or pirates, or knight and princess, with Henrietta good-naturedly performing the part of either the evil witch or the dragon, because Elizabeth had insisted to be the damsel in dire distress each and every time. To fancy herself in love with Will had been not much more than the idle play of a stubborn little girl that wouldn't want to give up these times of old.

Marrying James would have meant to accept that she had grown up, too, no more running through the gardens, no more irresponsible fooling around. But she hadn't wanted to grow up, to become responsible for her actions, to accept that she couldn't always have everything just her way. She had been aware that she couldn't manipulate James like she had always been able to wrap her father around her finger, or Will in this instance – _he_ wouldn't let her, and she hadn't wanted it either. Her great respect for him had always forbidden her to do so much as try it, and about the only time she _had_ done it, she would forever be ashamed with. He had understood that she was trying to manipulate him, but the point about this business was that it didn't work when the other one had already understood. She had seen it in his eyes back then; he had looked a little amazed – but not because she had agreed to marry him in the first place, but because she had broken their silent rule – and hurt. Very much hurt. In his eyes, she had read that he would eventually have done her the favour, too, if she had properly asked for it, but in his infinite generosity, he had forgiven her still. He had tried to talk to her, but she hadn't given up her act. She neither had told him about the curse, knowing that not even his wish to help her would have been enough to lead his men into certain death – no, it hadn't been blindness, it had been silent consent on his part, consent to rescue a boy from some pirates. He hadn't suspected her to lie to him about the rest, the possibility of a curse, and proving his excellence once more, he had also never scolded her for it after being confronted with the truth.

In this moment, it was knocking on the door, and Scott announced, "Miss Van Dyke has come for you, Miss!"

She gave a start, facing Henrietta, who looked both insecure and happy. She tried her best to recompose, but hardly succeeded, she couldn't but stare at her friend while icy fingers were grabbing for her heart and for her lungs, and she murmured, "Hen –"

"Good afternoon, Lizzy! Are you – aren't you feeling well?"

Lying would be useless, so she whispered, "Not too well, no, but – what brings you here?"

"I had hoped we could talk and sort out whatever you think I have done wrong. Please, I want to reconcile, just tell me what I ought to do! And I have some news to tell you, that might amuse you, I guess – but I can come back later if it's inconvenient…"

"News?"

"Can I get you something, Lizzy?" Henrietta looked apprehensively.

"No, no – what news?"

Panic engulfed her, she tried to breathe even and make a face that at least wouldn't look as horror-stricken as she felt inside. Perhaps it worked, or perhaps Henrietta was only too eager to tell her friend why she had come; in any case, she smiled brightly and started, "You will be very surprised with me, Lizzy, you will laugh at me, I know. I deserve it! I haven't told anybody, I wanted _you_ to be the first one, I wanted to see the look on your face when I confess it. After all I've ever said, about love, or that I should never be a sailor's wife… How foolish I was, Lizzy! I remember well what terrible nonsense I've been preaching! Now I understand what you tried to tell me, about true love, about – are you sure that I really can't fetch you anything?"

Elizabeth shook her head, mouthing, "A sailor's wife –"

"Yes, indeed – oh now I've given it all away already, for you certainly know who I'm talking about anyway! He came to us yesterday evening –"

Elizabeth could take it no more, she jumped up and sprinted out of the room as fast as she could, crying, "Excuse me!" She ran down the stairs and out of the house, out, out, away, she had to get away as far as possible from Hen, who was beaming so happily, who hadn't got a clue how her bearings agonised her friend –

So that's why he didn't have time to dine with them the previous day! James had proposed to Henrietta! It was so horrible, so utterly dreadful – now she got punished for her deeds at last! God was playing his most cruel joke on her! She had almost been Mrs. James Norrington, and she had gambled her luck away, incapable to understand her own heart, or what treasure she had been given once! Now, he loved Henrietta, who was everything that Elizabeth was not, patient, calm, composed and clever. Or did he? Could he _truly_ be in love with her, like he had been with herself? But even if he wasn't, even if he had only asked her to be finally married to a decent woman – he was too much a man of honour to ever break such a bond!

How should she endure it?! Being the Governor's daughter, she'd be forced to see the Commodore and his wife frequently, her own often declared friendship to him obliging her just as much as her old friendship to Henrietta! She had all those scenes in her head, like their wedding – oh Lord, she'd rather be half-dead with pestilence than witnessing James marry another woman! And all the lovely dinner invitations that would take the heart out of her!

She had spoilt it, she had broken it – the world's best heart, it had belonged to her and she had pushed him away! And why? _Why_?! Because of some silly books that she would never confess to have read at all! Because of her self-will and childishness! Because she had meant her power over him to be so great that he wouldn't simply stop loving her! There was only one person in the world she could be truly happy with, not malcontent like she constantly was with Will, but bridled by honest admiration of his virtues, somebody that she could truly respect, that she could lean onto… And she had destroyed it all!

Another thought darted through her mind – Will! She _couldn't_ marry him! Like she had said so often about James, Will, too, did not deserve to bind himself to a woman loving him less than he loved her! Why hadn't she just seen it sooner, and why must she realise it just in the moment of her greatest loss now?! If the Lord wanted to teach her a lesson, he was a strict, cruel teacher!

She had to talk to Will, and being both restless and desperate enough in this moment, she resolved to go at once. Why wait? It wouldn't be easier tomorrow, and if she was to spend the rest of her days in sheer misery, she could just as well start with it right now. To be true – she _had_ already begun – this morning in the church, she had got the first small taste of how it was going to be for the rest of her life.

She called on Mr. Brown and asked for Will; she had only been there twice before, and Mrs. Brown didn't bother to conceal her astonishment with the unexpected visitor either. She asked her to come in, but Elizabeth forced herself to smile and answer as unperturbed as she could, "No, thank you very much, Ma'am, but it's such a lovely day. I'd like to take a walk. Can you fetch him, please?"

The elderly woman hurried away – one ought not let the Governor's daughter wait – and returned two minutes later with the boy who was her fiancé still, and looking quite like it.

"Elizabeth," he cried merrily, "How charming that you've come! I had meant to see you after the service, but your carriage did come so quickly – I didn't even have a chance to give you your present!"

He fumbled in his pockets, but she said, "Later, Will, later. Please. Come and let's walk a little."

"Of course, my dearest!"

She winced back with that address and he asked her about it, but she only repeated, "Come, let's walk a little!"

They went along the cliffs in silence, she saw that he was getting more and more distressed, so she murmured eventually, "I had to talk to you, Will… I hope you will not take this too badly, but – I'm afraid you won't like it. You won't like just one bit!"

"I shall dislike nothing you could ever say, my dear," he said guilelessly. "Unless of course, you told me that you didn't love me!"

He gave a little snigger with his own remark, clearly waiting for her to join in, but of course, she couldn't. She did not look at him when answering, "But that is exactly the reason why I've wanted to talk to you –"

He laughed a little more. "That you don't love me? Oh well, and I had almost believed you to have some serious business to discuss with me!"

"I _am_ serious, Will," she whispered sadly. She waited for him to say something – anything – for she had absolutely no idea how to go on. She dared not to look over, and was more than slightly shocked when finally hearing his voice that was distorted with pain and helplessness.

"But Elizabeth – but _why_? What did I do wrong? Just tell me, I – I'd do anything for you!"

"I know," she forced herself to meet his eyes and not wince back with what she saw. He looked agonised. "And believe me, it's got nothing to do with you. You're wonderful, Will, every bit of you, and surely, you've done nothing wrong. But I have done nothing right, I've been wrong all along. I'm sorry to cause you any pain, but I find it better than just go on and pretend I was loving you the same way that you love me, for I do not…"

His eyes were pools of despair, staring at her without so much as a blink, and she quietly went on, "I've been terrible to you, I know, I've niggled and grumbled and reprimanded you for no reason at all, for you had done nothing to deserve it. Too silly to understand my own foolishness, I tried to blame you for my ill humours. All the time, you've thought and laboured so hard only to be with me – it grieves me to think of it. I hope you believe me that I acted with no false pretensions, or ill intentions – I simply didn't know myself…"

"And now you know?" She nodded gravely and he murmured, "Is it because of somebody else?"

She hesitated for some seconds, but resolved not to lie to him. She had never lied to him before and she wouldn't start with it right now. It was the least she could do. "Yes, or rather say – I've realised I _do_ love somebody else, but I won't marry him or anything like that, if that's what you mean."

"Please, you needn't refrain for my sake then," he tried to say as bravely as he could.

She mustered a weak smile, "You think too highly of me, but I'm afraid I'm not that noble. No, he – he's got somebody else, too…"

"It's Jack, right?"

She gaped at him, but he wasn't joking, so she cried, "For heaven's sake, no! Jack?! How can you believe me to – no way!"

He chuckled sadly. "Just a notion… I've always been deadly jealous for that night – when you were marooned with him on that island. Drove me quite mad, you know?"

"But I _told_ you there was _nothing_!"

"But madness got nothing to do with reason, has it?" He sighed and shrugged. "I suppose I should call on the good Commodore then – we could establish a little club for broken hearts!"

She smiled wryly. "Indeed, I hope you will follow the Commodore's example. He's got over me rather well, I dare say, and found himself a better girl than me!"

"Has he?" But in this moment, realisation was dawning on him, and he groaned, "Oh, I see! Oh! Yes, of course – well, I could have thought of that earlier!"

"Could you? Why?" she asked, alarmed – had she let it shown so openly?!

"Well, the little welcome ceremony when the Challenger returned, for example! To kiss his hand might perhaps have been a _bit_ too much, if one isn't as blind as me… All the 'James here' and 'James there' – so he's found somebody new? But not Miss Van Dyke, after all?"

She nodded silently, and he gave a dry laugh. "Ah – now I also understand why you've been so mad with her all the time!"

"Most likely, yes. But I didn't understand it myself until this morning."

"I'm so sorry." His expression had turned very serious again. "Honestly, I mean it. You've abandoned your true love for my sake, and now you've lost it – I'm truly sorry about that!"

She wanted to interrupt him, tell him that she couldn't endure his sympathy – his anger, hate or disdain, but not his sympathy – but he didn't let her, and continued, "It's all right, Elizabeth. You know, I always found that you'd have made a nice couple. You've kind of matched. I never really understood what you might see in me, and I've always had the highest opinion of the Commodore. I wouldn't have rejoiced from the depths of my heart to see you marry him, but I found him to be the only man worth of you, including myself. It pains me almost as much as losing you to think that I've been the reason for your own aching!"

She had tears in her eyes and whispered, "Thank you – you're a wonderful person, Will…"

"Yes? And so are you, Elizabeth, don't let me hear you say again that he had found a better girl, for there _is_ no better girl than you, not even Miss Van Dyke." He tried to flash her a smile but failed. "You must make some concessions to my pride – at least, I want to be left by the _best_ girl in the world!"

She forced herself to laugh, and following a sudden notion, she quickly embraced him and kissed his cheek. "One day you will make the _other_ best girl in the world incredibly happy!"

"Nah, I've made _you_ unhappy, I don't think I should give it another try!"


	24. Chapter 24

The first person to learn about Elizabeth Swann's latest eccentricity was her good father. The old gentleman couldn't have felt more gratitude, or relief – he hadn't dared to entertain any hope that his dear child would ever come to her senses again. For the young blacksmith, he felt some compassion, but only little compared to his other utterly cheerful feelings. He would have told Elizabeth all that, but she had already left him when he woke up from his first frenzy. She hadn't told him very much, only that she had broken up with her fiancé – he slowly got used to that line of behaviour – and then she had asked whether he had been serious when offering her to send her back to England, or for a start, her uncle Clarence in Nassau Port. He had been perplexed with the demand but confirmed his readiness, and not two minutes later, she was gone again. Suddenly, he remembered the most astonishing news he had wanted to tell her – her friend Miss Van Dyke had been here earlier on announcing that she was engaged, and he firmly resolved not to forget about it when Elizabeth would return.

She had summoned all her courage to dare the most humiliating enterprise, sensing that if she didn't do it straightaway, she might never have another chance; tomorrow, she might have lost her courage and next week might be too late. She ran down the hill and over to the fort, terribly out of breath when telling the guard to take her to the Commodore.

"Has anything happened, Miss?" the officer asked her. "Are you all right?"

"Make haste, make haste! I - well, don't worry," she panted, clenching her aching side, and he obeyed. She tried to recompose herself again, and hurried along the officer who cast her worried looks. But she couldn't bother for him right now, she needed to sort out her mind, find some sufficiently intelligent lines to say – and then, she could only hope he wouldn't loathe her forever. As much as she had been in a hurry, when they came to his door, she found that to be much too soon, she'd need some more minutes to restore herself –

But the officer had already knocked, the door was opened, and James looked at her in a mixture of worry and astonishment.

"Elizabeth – has anything happened? Is your father –"

"My father is perfectly fine, I dare say he's never been better," she muttered, closing the door in the officer's curious face.

"But –"

"I know it is very late, I know, but I _had_ to see you!" She felt like fainting, partly because of the running, but much more because of the reason for her visit. He stared at her and she returned his look until she was all dizzy, averting her eyes and continuing – "I had to see you, _talk_ to you – I'm very well aware that –"

"Please sit down! Can I fetch you something?"

"No!" She reached out for his arm to hold him back as he was turning towards the door, letting go at once, shocked with her own dare. "I don't need to sit down, I'll be gone in a minute and – please stay, James, I must talk to you _now_, or I may never find the courage again! But where to start – it's all so difficult! You must hate me, oh James, when I think of what I've done to you, I wish to sink into the ground, I…"

"But Elizabeth, please calm down! I've understood, and it's – well, fine! I've had plenty of time –"

She groaned, desperate with what he would say next, how he would tell her that he loved her no longer, but she had to speak her mind nevertheless, now or never!

"Please listen to me, James, listen to this, and I will never annoy you again, but I _must_ say it – I've been an idiot! I know, I know – you've been always gracious and good and sweet, so be so good as you've ever been now and listen to me for a second – did I say yet that I'm a terrible fool? I _am_ a fool, a spoilt little girl, and silly and unworthy and – oh god, you will hate me for this, I know –"

"Nothing you could say or do would ever make me hate you, dear," he said, looking rather apprehensive. "One should marry the person one loves, and no one else. I certainly understand that –"

She was squirming, looking into his deep blue eyes and gathering all her valour. "Yes, that's what one should do, and I wish I'd have been less foolish, I wish I had known my own heart better… You're surely much better off without a piffling goose such as myself, but… I love you!"

He did not move, he did not speak, all he did was stare at her in incredulity and she clenched her hands, desperate and low. "I know it's useless and you don't love me anymore, which is – very understandable – but I had to tell you nevertheless. I love you, I've been blind not to see it much earlier and I will bear with whatever shall come – I will go to England actually – I know that you're going to marry Henrietta – she's so much worthier than I am, I can only congratulate you, honestly – whatever makes you happy, you deserve it! You deserve just everything, James!"

He was still petrified, opening his mouth and closing it again, but finally managed to mutter, "What makes you think I was to marry Miss Van Dyke?"

"She came over to tell me that she is engaged –"

"To me?!" She would have laughed with his stupefied expression, but this wasn't the moment for any humour at all, she felt too miserable to do as much as smirk, and he added, "You've got it wrong, dear – she hasn't said that she's marrying me, she can't have!"

"So you're – you're not – but – no, she didn't say… She spoke of 'a sailor', and – well, I was naturally anticipating that it was you, of course, but I wouldn't endure to hear her speak it, so I ran away!"

"Yes, I can see that –"

"No, no – I mean yes, I _have_ run here, but Hen's been visiting me this afternoon, I – had to settle some things… I had to talk to Will and tell my father then –"

"Tell your father?!" He was still goggling at her, at a total loss to understand. He _heard_ her words – he simply didn't comprehend them.

"I've broken up with Will, I _can't_ marry him and the poor guy – he's straining so much, and all for nothing, so I better… But did you say – you _don't_ mean to marry Hen?"

"Certainly not! I have no – besides, she is engaged to Lieutenant Chandler, as far as _I_ know –"

"Lieutenant Chandler! Oh _good_! I mean – well, it doesn't matter anyway, no, I see –"

"You've broken up with your fiancé?!" The first signs of life returned to James' face, in the form of a suppressed smile. "Becomes something like a bad habit with you, doesn't it?"

Now it was Elizabeth who was speechless; she gaped at the man in front of her, who slowly seemed to wake up from his trance. "So," he said with a much firmer voice, "what exactly did you want to tell me?"

"Oh! Didn't I – I already told you that I love you, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." He was smiling now. "But I'm afraid I still don't understand you!"

"That was basically all – I don't have much more to say, you know – I simply wanted to tell you before you were married and I never had the chance again to…"

"To…?" He was downright grinning, and Elizabeth meant that she could take it no more. She turned on her heels and wanted to flee from this place, but now it was him who reached out for her wrist and held her back. She couldn't look at him, but he did not let go either, and she heard him say softly, "You must stop running away, dear. Please, look at me, Elizabeth!"

She shook her head, crying, "I can't – I'm so ashamed with myself – everything I've done – oh Lord!"

"Elizabeth, don't –" his voice was faltering, but he still held her tight. "You needn't… You've said – you loved me…?"

"I do," she whispered, feeling no more ground under her feet.

"And what would you say if I told you that I love you, too?"

Nothing. She would say _nothing_. Poor Commodore Norrington was almost accustomed to his sweetest Elizabeth fainting, so he had some experience in catching her, which came in very handy now. He held her in his arms and pressed her tightly; perhaps it would have been better to make her sit or lie down, but he _couldn't_ let go of her, not now.

"Elizabeth – my beloved Elizabeth…" Fortunately, he had learnt to stand up to pretty much everything and _keep standing_, but with his heart bursting with joy, this was harder than any battle he had ever fought. Who could say how long he embraced her, in the middle of his room, before at last, she woke up again and whispered under her breath, "James…?"

"Right here to your services, Miss Swann –"

He kissed her hair, her forehead, she whirled her arms around his neck, and mustering all bravery he could possibly possess, he bowed down to kiss her lips –

"You're too good to be true, James," she sighed when their lips finally parted, and his eyes still closed, still feeling her kiss linger, he managed to smile.

"I hear that all the time."

The end of all this was that, after having begged her to sit down to avoid any possible accident, he asked her – on his knees – for the second time in their both lives, if she wanted to marry him, and when she said 'yes' _this_ time, she couldn't have meant it with more affection, sincerity or confidence.

Maybe it was the routine, having proposed to the same girl already, but his composure was somehow better than the last time, he could even watch her straight in the eye. But then – the last time, she hadn't just left another man only because she meant that James would marry another woman, she hadn't told him that she loved him and he hadn't deceived himself that she would. It would take him some time to figure out what on earth had happened, to convince himself that he wasn't simply dreaming, and for a start, he contented himself to kiss her with a passion that he hadn't meant to possess himself – _if_ this was a dream, it was an incredibly wonderful one!

Elizabeth on the other hand thought vaguely, somewhere in the back of her mind, which was otherwise too much consumed with other things, that, if James had ever tried to kiss her while she had been engaged to him for the first time, she might perhaps have spared him, and herself, a lot of misery.

She couldn't claim a reputation for herself to have the steadiest of opinion – although she was certainly quite head-strong in other respects – but she _knew_ that she would never change her mind again. The regret that she had felt after abandoning James because of Will wasn't felt at all now that she had given her hand and heart for the third time in her life – being only nineteen, this was a remarkable number of engagements. Her felicity wasn't rooted in youthful fancy and a pretty face, but certain knowledge that she was to be the wife of the worthiest man in the world, even though she did fancy him a lot, and couldn't understand herself why she had taken so long to know her own heart. Commodore James Norrington not only possessed the power to make her happy, but to make her a much better person than she could ever be on her own, or with anybody else.

Bride and groom both wished to marry as soon as possible, but it would be wrong to presume that he was anxious that she could make up her mind once more, or that she simply had enough of long-time engagements. The certainty to be doing the only right thing, to have found just the one person in the world that their hearts belonged to, and most, the many suffers and pains they had both endured for the sake of the other – these were the foundations for their hurry to make up for everything. No objections had to be overcome; Governor Swann, though even more perplexed when his daughter returned this evening than when she had left, was indeed the most satisfied father in the world and had given his consent long before his rather slow wits could make him understand just anything. Reverend Martin, not quite as nonplussed as the Governor or anybody else involved, for a priest often knows more about his lambs' souls than they do themselves, gave his word to join their hands on the soonest day possible.

Elizabeth soon learnt how _thoroughly_ unfounded her suspicions against Henrietta had been – he declared that he had never ceased to love her only the tiniest bit, and she had to laugh about her own narrow-mindedness. During all her ravings about her friend it had never come to her mind that it had been mostly her own jealousy blowing everything so monstrously out of proportion. Instead, she had perceived all the diminutive details which would have confirmed her dreads with the most anxious, twisted clarity – that he hadn't looked at her during the consultation after the Challenger's return, for example. She had taken this as a sure sign that he was at least angry with her, but more likely that he had lost every regard for her. In fact, he had simply lost his nerves with her own stares. Or the short glance in the church – yes, he _had_ looked at Henrietta, but _she_ hadn't looked at him! She had gazed at her future husband Robert Chandler who had sat next to him, and after it had taken the Commodore the greater part of an afternoon to urge his friend to finally make a go at the lady, he had looked over to signal her his delight with the course of events. Chandler had pressed his hand to _thank_ him for his urgings, not to congratulate him. There were uncountable other small moments she had interpreted as clear hints, but he had the grace not to laugh out loudly about her for her silliness.

_He_ had been oblivious to his own influence just as well. Although he had of course noticed how very much she had appeared altered, he had blamed nothing but her happiness about her engagement to young Mr. Turner for it. Actually, he had meant her attachment to this one so unconquerable that it had been absolutely impossible for him to see anything else in her behaviour.

"So, if you had merely heard that I had undone the engagement – would you have changed your opinion then?" she asked cheekily while they were taking a walk in her father's gardens, she was clinging tightly to his arm. He chuckled gently.

"No, I suppose I wouldn't have – I'd rather have meant that you loved me less than Mr. Turner anyway, and that one less than I had expected, ergo _lowering_ my own hopes instead of increasing them!"

"Ah, that would have been dreadful! How can you be so shy?"

"My dearest soon-to-be Mrs. Norrington," he muttered fondly, turned to her and looked straight into her eyes, struggling to suppress a smile. "What you forget so charmingly is that I never received the smallest encouragement from your side until you've stormed into my office to tell me straightaway you loved me! How could I _not_ be shy? I wouldn't even go so far and speak of _shyness_ in the first place – that was common _sense_, more like!"

"So what you basically tell me is that your _common sense_ would have kept you from wooing the woman you claim to love? I think _my_ way of putting it lets you appear more sensible!"

"Well, name it differently then – name it sense of self-preservation! I was still trying to swallow your first refusal, because I do not only _claim_ to love you – I literally _suffer_ from it!"

She blushed severely, but he blinked at her and kissed her fingertips. "And as long as I see no ring of mine on this hand, I will not yet stop to be prepared for being refused once more!"

She blushed even worse and lowered her head, murmuring, "Please, James, you mustn't make fun of this – I'll never be able to forgive myself for it!"

"Oh, but I wasn't joking, my dear!"

Oh well, he _was_ joking – his voice gave him away. One of the most amazing discoveries she had made since this memorable evening on Christmas day was to see that, once he had warmed up to her, he had developed a good sense of humour. She had loved him without it, but she was even more enchanted with this most unexpected quality, even though it meant that he kept teasing her to no end.

He let go of her hand and tenderly lifted her chin to make her look at him again, whispering before he closed in for a kiss, "Though there is one thing that I'm deadly serious about – I love you!"

The Governor spotted the enchanting couple from one of the upper windows, absent-mindedly talking to his late wife's portrait on the wall, "You couldn't be any prouder with her, Mary! Though I must say that customs have changed in the last twenty years – did I ever kiss you in your father's garden in broad daylight? Oh yes, you're right, of course! _Now_ I remember – forget everything I've said, my love!"

The first person that Elizabeth had visited after that eventful evening was her old friend Henrietta Van Dyke, to plead for that one's forgiveness for everything that had happened between them, and furthermore to pass on the joyful news. Miss Van Dyke had no disposition to feel any grudge; she loved Elizabeth too well despite all her follies, and congratulated her with the same heartfelt enthusiasm that Elizabeth had in store for her own engagement to the good Lieutenant Chandler – although she couldn't refrain from one or two jibes concerning Miss Van Dyke's often stated belief that _she_ would never fall in love in such fashion. Miss Van Dyke revenged herself by reminding her friend of her very public claim to _not_ marry Commodore Norrington.

Even the Lieutenant was utmost pleased – in the past, he had often criticised Miss Swann, but Henrietta's fervent defence of her friend, the Commodore's never-faltering praise and his own means of observation let him belief that she would make his friend just as happy as he deserved and could after all grow up to be a very good woman.

There was only one soul in Port Royal that couldn't share any such happy feeling, which of course was Will Turner. His love for the lady had been as honest and deep as he could ever have felt; he was too passionate and too young to own the Commodore's empathy to only care for his beloved's happiness, but at least the same youth made it likely that he would in time get over such loss. He didn't have to endure becoming witness of the solemn ceremony, as he left the town only four days later on board of the Black Pearl, but to make it short – he was to find true love some years later in the person of a sailor's daughter, who let him forget about the woes of a broken heart, and until that, he was rather busy to handle his captain's drunken brilliance that bordered sheer madness so often.


	25. Chapter 25

Five days ago, sweetest Elizabeth had come rushing to his room to tell him she loved him, and James Norrington was still incapable to fully grasp all of this. Each evening when lying in his bed, the same thought came to his mind – was this only a dream after all, and in the next morning, he'd wake up to find himself alone again, and Elizabeth still engaged to someone else?

But it was no dream, every morning, he awoke and she was still his, with hand and heart. She _loved_ him, in a way that he had never believed possible; when asking her to marry him for the first time, he had hoped that she could _accept_ to be his wife, that she could find regard and respect sufficient to found conjugal life upon. He hadn't flattered himself that she could ever feel any more than that. But he knew her very well, he had observed her for so many years to understand how utterly serious her sentiments were now.

Of course, he couldn't name an exact day when he had fallen in love with her; she had been almost a child yet. Her lively temper, so different from his own, her vigour and easiness had endeared the girl to him in the most innocent way, and it had taken him some more years to realise how exceedingly fond he was of her. Before that, he had watched her with curious interest, amused, endeared, bewildered by the Governor's wild daughter. To acknowledge that he was in love with her had taken him by surprise; for the first time in his life, he had thought of marriage in a deeper way than only contemplating it for his more distant future. He had suddenly known that he'd never be truly happy without this girl, that being with somebody for the rest of his life could be more than just a matter of convenience, of general manner for a man in his position. It had also been the moment to understand that Elizabeth would never love himself in the same way. But perhaps, he had allowed himself to hope, he might be able to make her accustom to the idea of marrying him nevertheless. He had never asked for more.

To see her now, clinging to his arm in the most tender fashion, _looking_ at him with tenderness and true affection – he _had_ never felt like that, not so happy, never so fulfilled. When she had stood before him, insecure and low like he had never seen her, and these words coming from her mouth, 'I love you' – his mind had been blank. He had seen her speak, but it had felt like Chinese, accidentally resembling the English 'I love you', and he had desperately tried to figure out what the heck she might actually be talking about.

The first thing he had managed to perceive had been that she had seemed to labour under the impression that he was going to marry her friend Miss Van Dyke, which had perplexed him almost as much as everything else, but at least it had been an easy head to answer to. _Of course_, he would _not_ marry Miss Van Dyke; even if this one hadn't been already engaged to his friend Robert Chandler, he had never seriously contemplated this possibility.

She had appeared exceedingly relieved to hear this, and slowly, _very_ slowly, it had dawned on him what she had said to him in the first place. She had said that she loved him, that she had abandoned her fiancé, and despite his utter confusion, he had began to find the whole situation incredibly funny.

She had left young Mr. Turner because she had thought he, _James Norrington_, had proposed to her best friend? It couldn't be true, could it?! And she had meant him to love her no longer, which had been the most absurd part of it all – the whole time, he had feared that his unfaltering affection must be written all over his face whenever being near her. But still, he hadn't known what to do or say, too distraught by swallowing her utterly unexpected revelations. Just when she had been on the verge of leaving as quickly and unforeseen as she had come, he had, luckily, had the presence of mind to stop her.

Ever since this minute, he had felt like in heaven, staunchly convinced that no man had ever experienced such surprise, such happiness. He had asked her to become his wife, she had breathed that there was nothing in this world that she wanted more and this time, it had been _him_ ready to sink with excitement.

That evening had been too much filled with stupefaction to ask about anything else, but the following days had offered him plenty of opportunity to do so, '_Why_' being the beginning of almost any of his questions. He was nonplussed by her answers, bewildered, pleased, touched, and always elated. And every once in a while, he was plainly embarrassed, too.

"James," she said now with a roguish smile, "are you aware that the only time I've ever seen you without a wig was when you were unconscious?"

He softly blushed and raised his brows. "Oh – yes, I suppose that's true…"

"I liked it!"

"Now did you – well…" He was clearly embarrassed, and she pressed his hand reassuringly.

"Oh, don't get me wrong! You look very good in your uniforms and all – it's just… I think I've never really _seen_ you underneath all the brocade and the wig and the hat… In your ornate, you are the Commodore, but without it, you are James, you know?"

He was silent for a minute, a soft smile playing around his lips before murmuring, "Although I'm afraid I am both, my dearest…"

"Yes!" She beamed and flashed her most brilliant smile at him. "You _are_ both, that's why I love you so much! You are dignified, up-right, brave and responsible, that's the Commodore in you, and you're gentle and sweet and vulnerable and caring and funny, that is James. And I'm the only one who knows!"

He kissed her hand in great animation, unable to speak. He thought it was true what she was saying there, but he would find no words to express his feelings. Nobody in the last fifteen years had ever seen him fully, and even before that… He had always been Sir Alfred's younger son, or Lieutenant Norrington, or the Captain, or the Commodore. He had never met with someone who wouldn't expect a certain role of him, he hadn't even perceived that there could be more to him than these parts. When he had fallen in love with Elizabeth, he had meant the only way to impress her, to make her love him, too, would be by his great successes, his perfect pose, his flawless attitude. By making her want to be Mrs. Commodore Norrington. Not for the world he had been able to imagine that she could wish to be Mrs. _James_ Norrington!

He tried to master his agitation, not letting go of her hand and mustering a smile. "Well, I foresee some possibilities for you to have me without the wig, sweetest Elizabeth –"

"Oh yes! So do I!" She nestled against him. "Among the many delights of becoming your wife, this is one of my favourites!"

"So what are the others?"

She winked at him. "Too many to count them, with only one drawback!"

"Only one? That's gratifying, isn't it? So what would this one drawback be? Perhaps I can change something about it?"

"You'll be away so often! And not only away, but on sea, chasing dangerous people!" Her expression had turned very earnest and her eyes wide; he was moved with her anxiety. He couldn't argue with that; he _would_ be forced to leave her alone very often. He _would_ fight pirates, and there was no guarantee that he'd win.

"I know," she said under her breath, "this is your profession, and a very fine one, too. But you know how selfish I am, I don't think of anyone but myself! I just can't stand the idea to lose you, though I promise to be brave. I'll do whatever it takes to be a good wife for you!"

"You will be, my love! I have no doubt about that! And how could I be anything but endeared by your worry?"

She bit her lip, like she always did when she was insecure – she had no idea how well he knew her face, all these little movements and gestures – and then she beamed at him. "In fact, I shouldn't be worried, should I? Has there ever been a better sailor than my future husband, a fighter more courageous, a man smarter or more quick-minded? _If_ anything should ever happen to you, it would be the Lord's way to punish me, and I swear I'll give Him no reason to do so!"

He suppressed to laugh about her fervour and kissed her hand instead. "I do hope you forgive me for saying this, but there _have_ been ample of sailors better than me –"

"Perhaps, but certainly none of them could have been more modest! Am I not the luckiest girl in the world? I'm going to be married to the most perfect gentleman to walk upon this earth or sail its waters!"

He sealed her mouth with a kiss before she could say more to make him blush and laugh out aloud. She always made him feel so strange, so very much unlike himself – but oddly, he was very comfortable with this. He was aware what the people said about him; there was praise in abundance, but positively never, he had been recommended for being much fun. When or why should he have been funny, anyway? With Elizabeth, this was different; he just loved to see her smile, he cherished her laughter. To make her laugh and smile was invaluable, fantastic, it made _him_ feel good, too; he was amazed how easy it suddenly had become for him to do so, and to laugh himself. She said how well it suited him, and _he_ felt how good it did him on the whole. Sir Alfred wouldn't have recognised his own son.

Another man thought he shouldn't recognise his own child as well, which was of course Governor Swann. He had been increasingly worried for Elizabeth's sake; afraid that she could get even more stubborn, less accessible, the apparent end of her friendship to Miss Van Dyke had seemed to confirm this. For a start, he understood now why his daughter had been so harsh with her friend; he couldn't but smirk with the idea. Perhaps, he should have realised what was wrong with her, but frankly, the idea that she could be jealous of the lady had never struck his mind at all. Too decisive had been her rejection of the Commodore, too fiery her declarations of love for young Mr. Turner. In fact, Commodore Norrington had been the very last man in the whole Caribbean that he had believed to be capable of incensing real _love_ in dear Elizabeth. How lucky that he had been so utterly wrong!

Although she resembled her mother in so many ways, her eyes, her face, her quick wit and her determination – ever since she was engaged to the Commodore, Elizabeth for the first time _truly_ reminded him of his beloved Mary. There was something in her expression when being with her future husband that he had seen in Mary's eyes, too, an earnest devotion maybe. Even more gratifying was that she had instantly toned down a little; she was more guarded, less careless than she had been before, without losing her easy temper. If nothing else, the Governor would have been sufficiently relieved with _this_ to ask for more in his soon-to-be son-in-law.

Good Miss Van Dyke was thinking along the same lines; she had always tried to influence Elizabeth to be a little less quick-tempered. As much as she had adored her friend's lively temper, being so much more reserved herself, she had often felt that Elizabeth had crossed the lines in many ways. It was good to have a mind of one's own, but important to realise that one couldn't always follow only one's self-will.

"Lizzy, Lizzy, I'm glad to see that you've finally found somebody you will listen to! I always seemed to fail in making any impression on you at all!" She chuckled heartily, and so did Elizabeth.

"I wonder that you're still talking to me, Hen. I've been nothing but terrible! I would have deserved you to ignore me for the rest of my life, and James never looking at me again either, really!"

"Now don't you try to make up complacency by excessive humbleness, my dear! I like you very well the way you are, even if I've found at times that it'd suit you well to think _first_ before speaking – or getting engaged, for example! But nobody is perfect, and it's the imperfections that are truly amiable to me!"

"I must be very amiable then!"

"You surely are! I think that's also the reason why I could never have fallen in love with your dear fiancé – the good Commodore is too holy for me. Has this man any fault at all?"

"No." Elizabeth grinned broadly. "My dearest James is perfection itself. He's the epitome of everything that is good and worthy! But you're not telling me the truth after all, are you, Hen? For I cannot imagine that you see any flaw in Lieutenant Chandler, and how does that go along your conceptions then?"

"No, I surely see no flaws or faults in him, that's right! He is a very good man in every aspect, nevertheless – the Commodore has always been like a statue of his own to me. Robert is… Oh well, I hadn't believed I could ever feel like this for a man!"

"I'm glad to see that I'm not the only one utterly and completely wrong then!"

"Oh, certainly I haven't been quite as wrong as you, dear. I've only said that I couldn't fall for any man – _you_ swore you could never fall for this one in particular!"

"You're horrible, Hen! Shh! Don't remind me of what I've said, I want to sink into the ground whenever I think of it!"

"So how does the Commodore kiss now? You still owe me an answer on that head!" Henrietta significantly arched a brow, making her friend giggle.

"Oh! Can there be words to describe it?"

"You've never lacked adjectives, Lizzy – just give it a try!"

"You only want to mock me, Hen! No matter what I say, you will roll your eyes and laugh about me!"

"I promise I shall not! Listen – you tell me about the lovely Commodore, and I will tell you about dearest Robert in return!"

Fortunately, neither the lovely Commodore nor the dear Lieutenant had a vague idea about their fiancées' chats; they would have been bound to feel very awkward about it. No, although they were as good friends as they could wish for, the male counterpart of this conversation hadn't consisted of much more than an approving handshake, some roguish smiles, some shoulder-patting and the reciprocal remark, "You do look very happy indeed!"

And they were; Lieutenant Chandler's bliss was in no way inferior to the Commodore's, even though he had never been quite as subdued. Both looked forward to a future full of prospects; they were to marry the most graceful women, who were no less attached to them than the other way round, their fiancées' friendship was bound to strengthen their own and they had no reason to lament only the tiniest detail. Both men felt privileged by fate and could only congratulate themselves on 'more luck than any man truly deserves' – their future wives eagerly defied that, claiming the two deserved nothing but the best, but without referring to themselves in this respect. Henrietta Van Dyke was too sensible for such an assumption; Elizabeth Swann had been rendered humble by experience – she had always demanded that James Norrington should marry nobody but the very best woman in the world, and by no rate, she saw herself suit her own demands there. In this one case, she was most ready to yield her otherwise so firm views nevertheless. She would be his wife, no matter what happened; if he still wanted her now, after all she had inflicted on him, nothing could stop her from spending the rest of her life with him.

Reverend Martin joined the Commodore's and Miss Elizabeth Swann's hands on the first Saturday in January, making her Mrs. James Norrington, and him the happiest man that could be imagined. Miss Van Dyke was the young couple's bridesmaid, Lieutenant Chandler their Best Man and the entire nuptials an event that the sleepy little town of Port Royal was bound not to forget so soon.

For a start, the public astonishment couldn't have been greater with the mere _announcement_ – there hadn't been a child not knowing that the Governor's daughter had broken up with the Commodore in summer and had engaged herself to Mr. Brown's apprentice instead. The usual gossip mills made the best of it, some saying the young man, who had signed on the Black Pearls some days earlier, had been fed up with his bride's extravagances and left therefore. Others claimed as certain knowledge that the Governor had forced his daughter to accept her former fiancé after all by the threat of disinheriting her. A few very imaginative voices even whispered that the whole engagement to Mr. Turner had been only a diversion; the main pivot of this tale was the assertion that the Commodore should have suspected his stand-in Captain Filister all the time and had merely tried to protect his beloved during his absence by pretending they had broken up. The carpenter's wife Mrs. Roxburgh and her cook Mrs. Walden, being the originators of said rumour, were the only ones not taken by surprise when spotting the happy couple before the altar. Both bride and groom were beaming so brightly that there could be no more doubts that this was a marriage founded on mutual affection after all, so the main focus shifted to the question how much the bride gown must have cost and whether it had been fabricated in Paris or in London. After this had been settled – with a majority betting most patriotically on London – it was estimated how much money would be among those two. Surprisingly enough, _these_ guesses were pretty accurate. Everybody knew about the rings already, and some very eager tongues tried to lure the Governor's cook to give away the menu for the feast – which was no problem; Mrs. Peacock was much too proud with her lobsters and veal, her kidney pies and apple tarts, to leave anybody in the dark about them anyway.

The Reverent couldn't bridle himself to put special emphasise on the phrases concerning the seriousness presented by such an enterprise like conjugal life, making the groom smile, the father of the bride turn crimson under his powdered wig, and the greatest part of the congregation snigger. Only the bride herself was far too excited to get the joke, anxiously waiting for the moment to say 'I do', but even if she _had_ noticed it, she would have been gratified by the priest's following affirmations of the unquestionable affection the young couple was showing.

Then, there was the great, long-awaited moment to speak at last, and put on the rings. James Norrington shot his newly-wedded wife a significant glance which she returned graciously, and he pulled back the veil. He had never been so overwhelmed in his entire life than in this minute, holding her hand still and looking into her big hazel eyes that were sparkling at him. The bride was not a jot less touched, softly trembling – both her husband and the priest had smartly fetched some smelling salts, just in case – and incapable to grasp her own good fortune. She had spent the durance of two or three songs with silent prayers, heartfelt vows, pledging to show herself worthy of such mercy as she had been bestowed with after all her faults and mistakes, giving holy oaths to better herself, and solemn affirmations to follow her husband's grand example in manner and conduct.

The Anglican Church of England didn't usually designate the newly-wed couple to kiss; but in places like Port Royal, thousands of miles away from Canterbury and London, an intersection of so many influences from so many other cultures, the textbook of prayers wasn't taken quite as strictly as elsewhere. _Everybody_ took delight in seeing the bride people kiss – if one particularly touchy bride father would absolutely not have it, Reverend Martin of course refrained – but now he sighed with some satisfaction, "You may now kiss the bride!"

And that was what James Norrington did; with their eyes fixed and their hands entwined, he bowed down to kiss his beloved Elizabeth. When his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and devoted herself to him and his kisses alone, glad that he still possessed as much sense as to part again after some seconds, for had it been up to her, she would have stayed like that for the next hours to come. Slightly guilty, she turned her gaze to the ceiling and promised the Lord once more that she'd be a good girl from now on and that nothing but propriety should guide her.

What else can be said about the day of their wedding? First came the reception, next came the feast, both taking place in the Governor's house. These were followed by the only thing that Governor Swann's otherwise so cheerful temper couldn't thoroughly rejoice in – to part with his dear child, as this one mounted the carriage with her husband to set off for her new home down in the fort. Within the walls of the fortress, there was a separate house, built for the Head of the fort, which had been vacant for many years because the Commodore had been a bachelor and seen no reason at all to move in there, contenting himself with the normal officers' quarters over in the main building. The house had been renovated and richly furnished half a year ago due to his first engagement; this being one of the main reasons why their actual wedding could have been performed so quickly. It had only taken some dust-wiping to get it ready, as the Commodore had never bothered to undo all the former preparations, thinking that he could well leave it like that for one of his future successors.

"How do you like it, Mrs. Norrington?" he asked, a tad anxiously, when presenting Elizabeth her new home now.

"Say that again, please!"

He knew very well what she wanted to hear, but was determined to tease her. "Well, how do you like it?"

"No, the other part!"

"Tell me whether you like if first and you shall hear me say it as often as you please, my dearest Elizabeth!"

"I find it splendid! Who could have assumed that you sailors had so much taste after all? I had readied myself to live in some place having berths instead of beds! Now speak it!"

"Berths instead of beds?" He innocently gaped at her, receiving a little push, and laughed merrily. "Very well, Mrs. Norrington, I'm at your command! Please, Mrs. Norrington, give me any order you like and I shall instantly hurry to satiate your wishes, Mrs. Norrington!"

"Hasn't it a fabulous ring to it?"

"In my next letter to Sir Alfred, I will forward your compliments, Mrs. Norrington! I'm sure he'll be just pleased! Now be very honest with me – is there even the slightest chance that I should be allowed to call you Elizabeth again in – let's say the next two weeks?"

She smiled roguishly. "I must think about that, Sir! But trust me, I shall keep you informed!"

"Did I already tell you that you look absolutely stunning in this dress?"

"Let me see – thirteen times approximately? Though I can't hear it said too often, and like before, I shall reply that I hope it's not only the dress that's stunning you!"

"I assure you, it is not! So, what are your plans now, Mrs. Norrington?"

Her cheeks turned pink, she bit her lip and slightly tilted her head. Not that he wasn't just as insecure as his fourteen years younger wife, but he found that it was obviously up to him to make a start. He took a deep breath and summoned all his courage, "Well, you haven't seen the attics yet, and I've thought I could also try to prove to you that you haven't been made mistress of a house having berths for beds –"

She blushed some more, but managed to whisper, "Oh, I think the attics would require better light!"

He exhaled with relief and smiled. "Very well, Mrs. Norrington! So it be then!"

He kissed the tip of her nose, lifted her up and patted her in his arms. She was trembling, burying her face in the arch between his neck and shoulder, and slowly and carefully, he carried her up to the first floor.

Both the Commodore and his wife held their privacy sacred, so no further account of their wedding night shall be given at this point. Only so much – bride and bridegroom found the beds most suitable, the former permitted the latter to call her Elizabeth without any more ado, and was quite enraptured to see him without his wig at last, and not even the Commodore's meticulous sense of duty could have tempted him to leave the bedroom again within the next couple of days.

Lieutenant Chandler represented him with the usual excellence; he himself was allowed to see his fair bride before the altar around Easter. Admiral Thompson had been quite fast to pursue his promotion to become Captain, Mr. and Mrs. Van Dyke had raised no objections whatsoever, and the two couples were as attached to each other as their old friendships could have promised. Governor Swann lived long enough to see his three grandchildren James, Mary and Elizabeth, be born and grow up, before his decease at the admirable age of seventy-one years.

Commodore Norrington became Admiral being thirty-eight and resolved to retire at forty-four. The whole family returned to England then, where the children were supposed to attend school, and their parents gladly exchanged the tropical sun for the Southern English gentle drizzling to be close to their children.

They were followed by the Chandlers five years later, who had four children on total, and to their mother's delight daughters only. She found it one thing to have a husband at sea, but quite another to imagine one of her darlings choosing this path.

Only one last thing needs to be said, and this concerns Elizabeth's temper. Although she often violated her home-made oaths to be more considerate, reforming and resetting them on a regular basis, she grew up to be a perfectly amiable woman, a caring and responsible mother, a devoted wife, a true role-model for the townspeople as she continued to work in the hospital and altogether tried to be as helpful and responsible as she could, leaving no space for even such a sharp observer as Captain Chandler to find any real fault with her. She stayed as lively as she had ever been, but adopted her husband's calmer manners; he lost some of his stiffness in return, infected by her general easiness. It couldn't be a end more boring, but also less common, for who could claim for themselves to have led a life of affluence, utter domestic felicity and every other happy circumstance?

THE END

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I'd like to say thanks to everyone reading up to this point, and most of all, everyone reviewing – thanks to lithe-button, au004, Zillac, Gee-Unit, arcticfox and GoldenFawkes! 


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